The Essence Of Existence
by BWjournal
Summary: What happens when your beliefs are questioned? When everything that you held as true changes in the most unexpected of ways? Will you hold that hand until the end? Written for DancingDragon42 for the Secret Santa Fanfic Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

There's something about approaching a new crime scene that always makes her heart rate speed up; the anticipation of what she's about to embark on, the complexity of the next case, the imminent reflection of what people can do to one another.

Beckett parks her Charger in one of the empty spaces in front of the diner; it's an old place, one of those that often remind her of times when things were simpler, filled with mementos from the fifties, good ol' American burgers and fries and the staple waitress that uses too much hairspray for her own good.

"You think it would be too much to ask if I tried to get them to make me a loaded grilled cheese?" Castle tries to lighten the mood while they cross the police tape that restricts the access to the crime scene. She rolls her eyes at him but only because she's also starving. He rolls his eyes back at her, humorously. "You never know…"

"I'd settle for coffee, Castle." She'd also rather be back in his loft, buried under the heavy goose down comforter and letting him embrace her until sleeps finds her. No such luck tonight. Lanie kneels by one of the bodies; a woman in her late forties, she is dressed demurely, the fabric of her blouse is a floral pattern that contrasts with the blood that splattered from the gunshot to her head.

"This is Mrs. Jane Van de Kamp, forty nine years old." Esposito introduces the victim, while Beckett and Castle get their bearings. CSU has already taken over, dusting the surfaces and taking pictures of the scene; uniformed officers help Ryan and Karpowski take statements from the witnesses. Javier points to the other body that lays face down at the end of the row of booths. "Her and her late husband over there, Mr. George Van de Kamp, were travelling all the way from Wyoming with their ten year old son."

"What happened?" Kate focuses on the woman; her expression is frozen in surprise, cloudy brown eyes, chesnut hair peppered with grey, the strands mused in disarray.

"I'd say that by the size of the wound it was a nine millimeter," Lanie says, beginning her assessment of the victim, "she died instantly. Her husband was shot in the back, probably trying to escape and protect the kid. By the location of the entry wound, I'd say that the bullet hit the heart. He didn't stand a chance."

"What about their son?" Castle asks, concerned, his fatherly nature always on the surface when it came to cases like these.

"The owner of the diner took him and they hid in the freezer," Esposito explains, pointing at the old man being questioned by Ryan, "It was just so lucky that Karpowski was here. She had ended her shift and was picking up some dinner on her way home."

The female detective joins them, nursing a coffee, looking a little shaken and giving a silent nod to her colleagues.

"That was one hell of a scare," Karpowski comments, rolling her neck and looking at the aftermath of the shooting.

"Did you see the shooter?" Kate asks the woman but she shakes her head.

"I did, but it won't be really useful," the female detective continues, ushering them to the place where she was standing at the time of the shooting, "I took out my gun the minute I heard the first scream from one of the patrons who saw the mother fall with the first shot. The father took the kid and they rushed towards me when the next shots occurred. They were shooting from a black SUV; the guy had a black ski mask, and he was good – as in government-trained good, 'cause the shots followed Mr. Van de Kamp with precision, until he fell."

They walk the trajectory of the story, paying attention to the couple of extra shots that had failed to hit their target.

"I fired back at the SUV, I know I hit him, because no more shots were fired from that direction, but then a second perp came through the door. I don't think they were expecting me." Kate exchanges confused looks with her. This doesn't make any sense.

"What's the point of all this?" Castle sounds surprised and she knows that he has all the reasons to be. A dark SUV that screams hired assassins doesn't match the victims.

"Beats me, man." Karpowski responds, at a loss for better words, "I just know that I gotta thank this place for having just the one door. I think the guy saw that he had no chance going through this narrow path and me; I had my piece trained on him. If he planed to kill the kid, he'd have to be faster than me pulling the trigger."

"Did you shoot at him?" Beckett asks, picturing the situation as she hears the story.

"I did, but he was definitely wearing a vest, I shot him straight on the chest." Castle trades looks with Karpowski, she's as impressed as he is at this situation. "He recoiled, reconsidered and ran out back to the truck, skidding fast on the slush out front."

Esposito and Ryan have joined their huddle by the end of the bar, listening to their colleague's recollection.

"So it seems like late Mr. Van De Kamp was a farmer, according to a couple of cards from some associations back in Wyoming…" Javier informs, showing them the bagged contents of the Man's wallet and documents, "and the Mrs… well she only has family pictures in her wallet, some over–the-counter pain killers; nothing that screams anything suspicious."

"But… now we know what these folks were doing here." Ryan interjects, "the Van de Kamps were on their way to JFK. They were leaving on the red eye; final destination: Morocco."

Ryan hands Beckett the plane tickets and passports. "They were stashed in their car; the '91 Jeep Wagoneer is loaded with a couple of suitcases, canned food and camping equipment."

"Morocco? Camping equipment?" Castle asks, surprised. "What kind of character would make sense with these details?"

"Well, you're the writer, bro." Esposito points out, joining in with his frustration.

"Organic farmers turned nomads, escaping… assassins hired by… the food industry?" Castle makes an effort to come up with a theory, but his expression matches Beckett's; not even he can believe in that scenario.

"They were after the kid." Kate states, sure of herself, solemn. "That's the only explanation."

"How do you gather?" Karpowski is curious. Kate walks to the booth, looking at the leftovers of what had been their meal; a couple of meatloaf entrees and a bowl of mac & cheese rest on the table, showered with shards of glass and drops of blood. And a drawing, lying lonely on top of a child sized jacket. She takes it, the crayon strokes building a pattern in different colors, an abstract combination of shapes and lines.

"Why risk coming in here?" Beckett responds, sober and grave, still examining the lines on the piece of paper. "If they were so good, they knew that they had killed the parents already. Either they wanted to take the kid with them, or it was really important to finish him as well."

The magnitude of her statement weighs heavy on her partners; she can tell that her theory fits a level of malice that they might not want to face right now, in the middle of the Christmas season, when everyone should be filled with joy and happiness.

"Well, Happy Holidays to you too, Beckett." Karpowski says, her sarcasm trying to make light of the gravity of her statement.

"How's the kid doing?" Castle asks.

"Surprisingly calm." Esposito responds, "Hastings is with him back in the kitchen, he had a couple of scratches but the paramedics already took care of it."

Castle trades a look with Beckett. She knows that look, the silent question behind it, 'Are you ready for this?' She'll always be, but then again, she never is. She'll have to tell another child that he's parentless, and she knows how that feels.

* * *

William Van de Kamp sits on a stool while Officer Hastings keeps vigil right next to him, giving a sad smile to Beckett and Castle as they approach. The boy sports a blank expression, his blue eyes focused on the grimy floor of the kitchen. The messy strands of his light brown hair frame his face, a little longer than your regular boyish hairstyle, making him look different, interesting. He has a bandage on his forehead and one on his left hand that cradles a steamy cup of hot chocolate.

He doesn't react to them. Kate takes a deep breath as she eyes Castle; she might need him for this.

"Hey William, this is Detective Beckett, a friend of mine," Hastings tries to ease the kid to their presence, "and Mr. Castle. He's a writer, a very good one."

Both Castle and Beckett share sympathetic smiles with the officer and the boy. He lifts his gaze in their direction; he looks tired, and Kate can see what are clearly tear-stained cheeks. He's scared, but he's braving it out.

"Hi, William," she says, extending her hand to him for a shake. He responds, politely, without uttering a word, making eye contact and holding her gaze.

"Hello." His voice is small and brings another level of reality to this situation. Castle extends his hand as well and the boy shakes it with strength he didn't expect.

"How are you feeling? How's the head?" Castle asks, trying to bond with the boy.

"I'm ok. Doesn't hurt." William says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Look, William," Kate begins, carefully. "Would it be okay if we talked to you for a little bit?"

"They're dead, right?" The kid's question comes more like a statement than a legitimate query. Resigned. Tired. What has this kid seen that he reacts to this situation like that?

"Yes." Kate confirms; honesty might be the best way with him. He might be more mature than they assessed, maybe a product of a lifestyle that isn't quite the peaceful picture of a countryside farm. "Do you think that you're up for a ride to our precinct? Have a little conversation with us? It definitely smells better than this place. We'll have Officer Hastings bring your things to us."

The kid bites his lip, considering her offer, his eyes darting between her and Castle. His stare is deep, he's examining them, and Kate wonders if he's evaluating how much he can trust these strangers that now seem to have control over his fate. His next question though, catches her off guard.

"Can you turn around and show me your neck?" He's dead serious and Castle throws her a confused look. She signals her partner to humor the kid and turns around, taking off her scarf and swiping her hair out of the way.

William gives his cup to Hastings and climbs on top of the stool; she nervously reaches out to him but he dismisses her, the kid can do it on his own. He carefully pushes Kate's shirt collar down, placing the flat of his hand on her skin. His touch is gentle but with purpose, pushing on the fine bones of the back of her neck. She doesn't understand what he's doing but she needs to connect with this kid if they want him to trust them.

He pulls back and fixes her collar, directing his attention now to Castle, who has been witnessing this exchange. He follows Kate's lead and does the same, letting the kid examine him.

After a few seconds of careful examination, William lets go of the writer's neck and climbs down off the stool, grabbing the hot chocolate from Hastings' hands. Castle and Beckett are a little rattled by the boy's demeanor, 'this must be some sort of coping mechanism,' she thinks as she readjusts the scarf around her neck.

"I'm going to need my jacket," William points out to Beckett, business like in tone and shifting his attention to his drink.

"Yes, you are," Kate responds looking at Castle. He's sporting the same question in his eyes.

_What have they gotten themselves into?_

* * *

**_A/N: I have to admit I'm having way too much fun writing this one and disregarding a couple of other stories I have in progress, so DancingDragon42 I hope you enjoy it. Quite a few parts to be posted, the first 4 are ready to go, so I'll have you covered for the rest of the month AT LEAST!_**

**I hope you guys like this, I'd love to hear some reviews for sure. X-Files is my absolute first love, Castle is like my affair, so I also hope I do this justice. This won't be family fic, sorry guys, I can read those, I can't write those.**

**Thanks to Ky & Tiff who have been my betas. Ky is the Hitler of commas and stuff, so thank her for good grammar LOL**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there!**

**Thanks so much for the reviews. I know this is an odd one, and hard to find to top off since is a crossover. So if you like it, spread the word?**

**Here's chapter 2, here we go!**

* * *

The car ride to the 12th is quiet, too quiet for his liking, but Castle knows that right now is not the best time to try to elaborate on all the crazy theories he's been formulating.

He's been observing the boy through the rearview mirror; he sits still in the back seat, staring at the snow-covered streets through the window. He has to be in shock, he thinks, a reaction to this horrific moment. Either that, or they're in the presence of a child that has lost all of his ability to express grief. 'Autism?' he wonders. No, he wouldn't have trusted them. Super-secret, child CIA agent… maybe he should call his guy and test that theory.

The car enters the garage of the precinct and Beckett parks in her usual spot, killing the engine, the silence suddenly a bit deafening. She unlocks her seatbelt and looks at the boy through her mirror. He's still staring out the window, curiously looking at the deserted parking garage.

Beckett turns to Castle, her lips a tight line, and he grabs the hand that reaches out to him. He reassures her with a silent look. _You can do this._

As they climb out of the car, Castle observes how the boy carefully studies his surroundings. Everything must be so interesting to him, and he remembers how it felt when he used to be this age, the wonder of the discovery.

Every time that his mother had begun a new play, he'd find himself being hauled into a new theater that he'd never been before, new dark hallways to explore, secret rooms and doors that were waiting to be opened; especially exciting, and equally disconcerting when they harbored the possibility of unraveling a mystery… or a scantly clad girl adjusting her tights.

The chime of the elevator doors announces they've reached the 4th floor and Kate ushers William gently out of it.

"This is our precinct," she announces. "We work here." They'd phoned in from the road to request a Child Services caseworker and luckily they'd sent Angela Jenkins, one of Castle's favorites. She's kind, understanding and has a good hand for pre-teens. They walk towards the almost desolated bullpen; almost everyone is out for the night or at a crime scene. The woman is standing by Gates' office door, examining her paperwork.

"This is where the detectives sit?" Curiosity is in the boy's voice as he swipes his hand over Kate's nameplate. Angela approaches them and shakes Castle's hand.

"Yes, NYPD detectives." Kate's voice is reassuring, warm as she smiles at the caseworker in a silent greeting. "This is my desk. Care for an M&M?" she says, grabbing her candy filled bowl.

"Thanks," he says, picking a couple of pellets.

"You can grab more, it's okay." She offers with a smile.

"That's okay; I only eat the green ones," he says, popping the candies in his mouth. Castle smiles at the kid, if anything, this boy's quite the character.

"I'm more of a red ones kind of guy," Castle says as he reaches into the bowl.

"Where's your desk?" William asks him, looking around the space.

"I usually just sit here," Castle responds, pointing at his usual chair. "Detective Beckett and I like to keep it close."

The boy stares at him and he could swear that there's a small smile creeping onto the boy's lips.

"Hi, William," Angela says, waving her hand carefully at the boy. "I'm Angela Jenkins." He smiles at her, tight lipped. "I'm from social services…" she continues to inform him, "I'm going to help them help you."

"Okay." He's studying her, just like he did with them.

"William, what do you say we go sit in our lounge and chat about what happened?" Kate tries, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nods at her, his eyes fixated on her hand. She lifts his chin, lovingly, and Castle smiles at Kate's warm gesture. She wants to ease this kid and she's doing it right. "It won't be long. I promise we can find you a bed and you can rest after. How does that sound?"

He shrugs and Kate trades looks with Angela. The kid promises to make this very interesting.

* * *

Kate sits right across from the boy, who's sitting cross-legged on the armchair in front of her. He's serene and she wonders about him; this goes beyond any psychological condition, beyond the shock of seeing his parents get shot. There's something about this kid and she needs to know what it is.

"We saw that you guys were going on a trip," she starts. Let him start filling in the blanks, she thinks.

"We've been travelling for a while," he says, nodding. "We left our house a month ago."

"Were you guys on a road trip? Sight seeing?" Kate proposes.

"That's what mom said," he responds with a sad smile. "But it was hard to see anything at night."

"You only travelled at night?" Castle intervenes, his voice soft, curious.

"Yes. Dad said it was best that way," the boy responds resolute, directing his eyes at Castle. William is at ease, he's not nervous and that astounds Kate. He shouldn't be this way.

"And you were camping out?" she asks, trying to put the pieces together.

He nods. Travelling at night, camping during the day; they were definitely running from someone, but what kind of danger could this family be in that they would resort to such dramatic measures?

"I'm sure you stayed in hotels along the way; it's a long road from Wyoming to New York," she coaxes.

"Nope, no hotels," he says, shaking his head. "They're not safe."

"Why do you say that?" Angela joins in the interrogation; she's as intrigued as they are with the kid's stance.

He purses his lips, doesn't respond.

"Were you guys running from someone? Were you in danger?" Castle probes, trying to push him to articulate better answers.

"Yes, all the time; that's why we were going to the place. Away, to the sandy place." They all trade glances at his statement.

"You mean Morocco?" Kate proposes.

"We bought plane tickets. They're waiting for us," William confirms, with a smile.

"Who is?" Kate continues her probe. Maybe this is a religious thing, she thinks. It wouldn't be the first time that a family got involved in a cult that proved to be a dangerous arrangement.

"The people that know of me, the ones that will protect me," he responds and the theory is starting to sound more plausible. She checks with Castle and he nods at her, leading her to continue.

"From who?" She leans closer to William trying to connect with him, trying to get a straight answer. He studies her, and looks at Castle and Angela. They all look at him, expectant, and he leans back on the chair, letting a huff tumble past his lips.

"I don't think you'll understand," he says, his voice infused with a bit of frustration. Kate takes a step back; she can't let her own frustration show, she needs to seem level headed, give this kid a sense of security. It's what he needs right now.

"Look William," she starts. "I know this must be very hard, but we need you to give us more details. I need your help to catch the people that harmed your parents. Can we make that deal?"

She's appealing to the child's evident maturity. Make him part of the process; make him feel that he can do something to change this situation he's found himself in.

"It's okay, you don't want to catch them," he responds calmly, surprising her, and then he continues. "My dad said I should never let them catch me."

He pauses and uncrosses his legs, now leaning into her. "If you find them, they'll know where I am."

His eyes are trained on her; they're so powerful, blue and deep, like Castle's, but there's something behind them, something she can't pinpoint. They seem old and wise, even when this kid has been driving their conversation in a loop. Then she gets it; he knows what he's doing, and this is completely intentional.

"Who is 'They'?" she hears Castle ask again. William doesn't look at him, still fixated on Kate.

"They are the ones that never die," he responds in almost a whisper, finally lowering his gaze at his hands. Kate looks at her partner but Castle shakes his head at her; he has no fatherly tools to coax this kid to give them more useful information. Angela signals them to step out to the hall. They need to regroup.

"We'll be right back," she says, holding William's injured hand for a second and giving him a small smile. She follows Castle and Angela out of the room.

"I think that he's been through a lot and these responses might be a way to react to it," Angela explains. "You might have better luck tomorrow when he's rested and some of the reality of this situation settles in. I'm going to call into one of our open foster homes, see if I can find him a temporary placement."

"Don't you think he'll be more distressed after spending the night with strangers?" Castle asks.

"You know the drill, Castle," Angela responds, a lukewarm expression on her face. "At any rate, he'll be sleeping on a bed instead of in a tent. I'm sure he'll be thankful." She steps away, reaching for her phone.

"This makes me sick to my stomach," Kate says, looking at the boy sitting inside the room. "Just imagining how he must be feeling."

"I know, but there's little that we can do about that right now, Kate," he says, trying to calm her anxiety. She looks at him and knows that he means the best. He's right but she can't shake the feeling that this kid is their responsibility now. If he's indeed in danger, a crowded foster home is not the best place for him.

"I know, I know," she concedes but he reads the distress on her face.

"Do you want me to give it a go? Try to do some man to man bonding?" he tries, but she shakes her head. He gives her a smile and closes the space between them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Get back in there. I'll go get us some coffee."

She returns the gesture, grazing his arm and goes back into the lounge. William has found her notepad, has doodled shapes and lines that almost cover the whole page.

"You're like me; I always doodle when I get bored," she says, appreciating his handy work.

"They're not doodles," he states, still focused on his work and changing the pen from his right hand to his left, drawing with the same dexterity and skill.

"That's some talent," she says appreciating the child's ability, "I can only draw with my right hand." She continues to look at him, as he rapidly fills every empty space of the sheet.

He takes a deep breath while stopping his repetitive drawing; his eyes fix on hers and he leans in while playing with the pen, intertwining it through his fingers.

"I'm going to tell you a secret," he whispers to her, spiking her interest, and she listens carefully. Maybe all she needed was to be alone with him, to not crowd him with too many prying eyes. "The protectors. Once I get there, then we'll all be safe. Everyone, even you."

"What do you mean?" she asks, wondering what kind of information had been fed to this child, his young mind brainwashed into religious nonsense he wouldn't be able to make sense of.

"The date is coming, and when it's that day, I have to be with them," he explains, so sure of himself, and she takes a deep breath.

"William you have to tell me the truth." She tries to reach out to him. "I can't help you if you don't explain it to me. Help me understand."

William sets the pen down and starts unwrapping the bandage from his hand.

"Oh no, William. Don't do that. You need to keep that covered." She tries to stop him but he shakes her off.

"I don't need it," he says, discarding the bandage and extending his hand to her. "I can heal myself." She examines his hand and she can't believe it. There's no blood, no wound, not even a scratch.

"I thought you had…" he gently shakes her hand away, reaching for the bandage on his forehead and peeling it off to reveal an equally unharmed surface. She grazes the span of the skin, completely healthy, unharmed. "But you-"

"It's always like this," he says, calmly, smiling at her. "I told you, it doesn't hurt." She can't make sense of this; maybe the paramedics were just being cautious. She stares at him, there has to be a mistake.

"You have a kind heart," he says, solemnly, "and that's why you're the one that found me."

* * *

**A/N: **

**Again thanks so much to all of you that are reading and to DancingDragons42 who apparently is pleased with her secret santa gift ;) I hope you continue liking it!**

**Also, thanks so much to all my girls at twitter & FB, who are enjoying this so much. How I wish I could actually produce this. Ky, you're my cuddly grammar dictator! Thank you! Now, go write Hard Candy!**

**REVIEWS PLEASE!**


	3. Chapter 3

"There's room for him at Sister Elena's house," Angela confirms, ending her call and pocketing her cell phone as Castle hands her a cup of steamy coffee. "I'll drive him over there once you guys are done."

"This could take a while," he says as they walk out of the break room, watching Beckett deep into conversation with William. "I know it's late, but I think that she prefers to talk to him while the memories are still fresh."

"Understandable." The woman leans on one of the desks while she watches the exchange between the detective and the young kid. "But you know I will have to stop you guys at some point if he starts getting tired. I do have to look after him."

Castle nods at her while taking a sip of his coffee. He knows that this will be a difficult investigation; the circumstances, the time of the year it has taken place on. And then Beckett's past will inevitably linger in.

He can't avoid placing himself in it as well. He was a little boy once, after all. While he never really dwelled on the lack of a father figure, while he never actually had to go through the phases of losing a parent, he knows how the sense of loneliness can make your head spin.

He finds it curious, how in a few hours William's living situation won't be too different from his preteen years; out with a bunch of unknown kids, all with their own states of anguish, all with their own fears and monsters to fight. His time in boarding schools and such had been a mixed bag of experiences. At times he wished he hadn't been such a loner, but on the other hand, he doesn't think his imagination would have then developed to create all those realities he conceived and put onto paper to make up for those empty spaces in his life.

Maybe he will grow up to tell stories. Who's to say that this kid doesn't have the next bestseller or blockbuster locked up in that odd head of hair?

"Yo… How's that going?" Esposito chimes in as he and Ryan arrive from the crime scene, the room filling with a few officers carrying the evidence from the Van de Kamp's car and the diner. They're tired themselves, already anticipating what will be a long night of perusing through all of their findings. Ryan throws a sad acknowledgement to Jenkins, dropping onto his desk chair.

"We're letting Beckett do her thing," Castle responds, taking an evidence bag that Esposito is handing to him. "What is this?"

"A lot of doodles," Esposito responds and Castle fails to see the importance of this as part of the evidence of the case.

"Am I missing something?" he says, pulling the drawings out of the bag and starting to peruse through them. Esposito exchanges a look with Ryan and they pull Castle aside, towards Beckett's desk and away from Jenkins.

"You tell him," Javier instructs Ryan, his voice just above a whisper.

"Ok, just… you know, don't go getting all crazy on us," Ryan warns, looking at the writer with hesitation. "Beckett will hate us for giving you ammo for your crazy theories."

"Okay…" Castle agrees, confused, anticipation already brewing in him.

"So, we went through their things…" Ryan begins, reserved, his voice trying to control the tinge of excitement that is seeping through. "These were stored in different suitcases, stacks of them. This is only one of the bags we collected."

"We tried to preserve the order we found them in, when they kept appearing in everything we opened," Esposito explains and Castle continues examining the pages, stopping to try and decipher whatever meaning they had; some symbols seeming familiar, but no recognizable pattern to it.

"I mean, we don't know man, we just both got a strange feeling about this case," Ryan confides. Castle looks at both detectives and lets out a deep breath.

"You're right, guys," he says, stacking the pages together and putting them in front of him on the desk, as he takes a seat on Beckett's chair. "This is definitely the kind of 'Castle Crazy' material that spurs my theories. Just wait 'til I tell Beckett. My wisdom might have influenced you two more than I thought."

"Told ya he was going to enjoy this way too much," Esposito says, slapping his partner in the arm, not enjoying the snicker that Castle is throwing his way. "Last time I let you convince me into your fan-boy ways."

Ryan rubs the spot and sees Esposito make his way to the break room.

"I'm just saying. It's really weird, man." He takes a seat on Castle's usual chair. "There's at least seven bags of them, and we haven't gone through all of it yet. We rushed back - It's too cold out there."

"Look, I won't argue that this isn't strange, and believe me any other day I would be the advocate for a really strange theory for this, and I'm not saying that this isn't already a weird set of events…" Castle rubs his neck and takes a pause to consider what they've learned so far, "a shooting in a diner to kill a family of farmers that were on their way to Morocco… yeah, its weird."

He spreads the drawings on the desk again.

"You know, the kid said something about someone coming after them," he informs Ryan. "My best bet is that they're escaping a cult." A chirp from his phone interrupts him – a text message from Beckett: _Come here NOW_. He lifts his gaze and sees her still sitting on the lounge but throwing glances at him, furtively, something's up.

* * *

Castle enters the room and she signals him to sit beside her. She hopes that he can sense her unrest, she really does.

"Angela found him a spot at Sister Elena's," Castle informs them, "You got a bed, kid." He turns to her and there it is, his eyes softening, he's seen that she's holding something from him and he's trying to read it in her. But then it dawns on her: does she really want to tell this to Castle? She can't excite crazy theories in him, he'll never stop, and this doesn't help, she thinks.

This doesn't help when she doesn't even know what this all means. Who is this kid?

"Is everything alright?" he asks, trying to break into her reticence, pointing at his cell phone.

"Yeah… everything is…" She looks at her hands that are still shaking, but she manages to hide it from Castle; just a few seconds ago, her world shifted on its axis, just the enough amount of inches. She turns to the boy when Jenkins enters the room as well, making her shift gears. "I just think that maybe is getting too late, but I still want to talk to William. We have a lot to talk about still, right?"

William throws his head to the side, as if understanding her and nods eagerly; Castle doesn't quite get where she's going with this, confusion on his face.

"I was thinking, if you'd allow, Angela," Beckett says clearing her throat, "that we could drive William ourselves? Finish our conversation on the road?"

"If that would help you guys…" Jenkins concedes.

"Yes, maybe you can get a head start on the intake forms while we meet you there?" she proposes, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice. "I have a couple of things to check up on and we'll be on our way."

"Sure thing. Whatever I can do to speed things up," Angela says, setting her hand on William's shoulder. The boy looks at her with intense eyes and Kate wonders what he's thinking. "See you guys there."

The social worker leaves the room and Kate watches the woman make her way through the bullpen and towards the elevators.

"Kate, what's going on?" he says, leaning into her.

"Nothing, I'm just… I guess I'm just tired." Kate gives him a soft small smile. She needs to decide what to do; her heart is racing a million miles an hour and her brain is trying to grasp what she just experienced. She wants to show him, but she's almost positive that she could be dreaming this whole thing and that she's about to wake up. 'Keep it together, Kate. Keep it together,' she repeats to herself.

"Ok, then… lets gather our things and get going," he says, his voice sounding reassuring. "The boys are back. They brought here tons of _interesting_ evidence to weed through."

She sighs at the thought of all the normality of police procedure that she can't fit into this case. The pads of his fingers brush against the back of her hand bringing her back to earth. "Hey if you're too tired, we can always call it a night, let the boys take over."

"Yeah." She nods to him, she knows that he knows something is up, but she also knows that he won't bring it up in front of the kid. She needs to make a decision.

* * *

The way to the car is silent, more silent than he had anticipated. Something has shifted in the time she was alone with the ten year old and he doesn't have the slightest idea of what it could be.

Maybe she's spiraling down again into the grief abyss she continues to try and avoid; he shouldn't have left her alone, he berates himself.

They exit the garage and move onto the street. The roads are covered in slippery slush and the sidewalks are buried under at least a foot of snow. He checks on the boy sitting in the back of the car; eyes drooping, exhaustion is catching up.

"He's about to lose his war with the _ZZZ_ monster, you better finish that chat," he recommends her casually, trying to make humor shift the mood in the car.

"Its ok, I don't need to ask him anything," she says, not meeting his eyes.

"I don't understand. I thought that the whole purpose of us driving him was to complete your interrogation." Now he really is confused.

She looks at him for the briefest of moments and diverts her eyes back to the road, hitting the breaks slowly as they hit a red light. She's hiding something – he can read it on her, four years of trying to read her mind does not go in vain, and whatever it is, it's big.

"Kate," he probes, he doesn't need to say more; his voice is warm and coaxing, inviting her to go on, to explain herself. The light changes and she lets the Charger pick up the throttle again. It's slow movement, there's lots of traffic on the streets adjacent to the precinct.

"What did the boys say they found?" she asks, and he thinks she's changing the subject, but he'll humor her.

"Aside from a lot of things crammed into the car… just doodles, tons of doodles. Weird doodles," he informs her. "Ryan is letting his superstitious flag wave so much that he almost convinced Esposito that something is up. I tell you, it was surprising to me that _I _was the level headed one in that conversation." Castle finishes with a laugh, but she doesn't reply to him, doesn't make a sound. Usually that would grant him at least a snarky remark.

"Okay, Kate. Throw me a bone here, what's going on?" he tries, his eyes darting to check on a sleeping William leaning against the window in the back.

"Just give me a minute here, Castle." Her voice comes out a bit harsh, and he reminds himself to tread lightly. She reaches the corner and makes a sharp right, sending muddy slush into the unsuspecting pedestrians trying to make their way down the sidewalk.

Castle braces himself against the door, surprised. She keeps going down a few blocks, speed picking up more than he'd like in these road conditions. Her hands are gripping the steering wheel, only changing positions when she shifts gears. He looks out the window; so this is how she wants to play it, shut him out of her process… the store fronts zip fast past his eyes and then he realizes it.

"Where are we going, Kate? This is not the way to the foster home."

Her hands grip harder, her leather gloves squeaking at the pressure against the surface of the wheel. She bites her lip, and brings the car to a sudden stop, a trash truck is backing his way into an alley and they're trapped behind it. She checks on the boy, turning her body in her seat.

"He's ok, I think he passed out a few blocks—," Castle tries to assure her but she stops his words by placing a finger on his lips. Her eyes are full and glistening, on the verge of tears. He wraps his hand around her wrist, slowly. "You're scaring me, Kate. If this case is going to be too much for you, maybe you should walk away."

* * *

She lets a shuddery breath escape her lips, the truck still wedged in, trying to find a way to maneuver, a few cars honk behind her, urging the driver of the truck to move faster.

"It's not that," she says, searching his eyes.

"Then what is it, Kate?"

"He..." she starts, frustration boiling as she pinches the bridge of her nose, but she manages to lift her gaze again to look him in the eye. "Castle, I just can't explain-" But she can't complete her sentence. Her window explodes in a sharp sound, in hundreds of shards, showering over her. She ducks, throwing herself towards Castle. He covers her, hunched over her as his own window shatters as well.

Kate reaches to release her seatbelt and grab for her weapon when she feels the hard and cold edge of the barrel of a gun pushed to her temple.

"Don't move," a man's voice instructs. "Don't ya even think about it." She lifts her gaze to her partner; another man has opened the passenger door, the dark clothed figure holding him at gunpoint, his face covered with a ski mask.

"Look guys, you don't know what you're doing. I'm a NYPD detective. This won't end well," she says, negotiating, a warning in her voice.

"Shhh," the man hisses back at her argument. "Now this is what we're gonna do. We're taking the kid and you and your partner are coming with us. You won't scream, you won't kick, _you won't fight back_ or we'll shoot ya. Understood?"

Kate darts her eyes towards William, who sits in the corner of the back seat watching the exchange. There's fear in his eyes, but his reaction is controlled, almost as if this was expected.

"Gimme your gun," the first man demands, and she complies. "Where's the back up piece?"

"Glove compartment," she responds through gritted teeth as the second man rushes to grab the small pistol from the front of the dashboard. Castle looks at her, she knows that look, he's thinking of a way to con these guys, but she's seeing the danger more than he is.

Kate fixes her eyes on him, shaking her head with the slightest of movements. 'Don't do it, Castle. Don't get us killed.' She prays in her thoughts and he seems to get the pleading in her eyes loud and clear, his eyes suddenly expressing the silent confirmation that she's learned to read.

"Come on, move." The second guy grabs Castle by the neck, dragging him out of the sedan and into a black cargo van that has inched its way over the mounds of snow against the sidewalk. She's next, and as she's pushed over into the van she can see a slender figure rummaging through her Charger and rapidly grabbing all of their things, putting them into duffle bags. An organized operation, fast and precise, just like the shooting early this evening. But why did they spare their lives? Why are they taking them?

They push her to the back of the van, where another figure, a smaller one, covers their faces with a black cloth and zip-ties their wrists. She can't see what they've done with William, but she can feel him near; his breathing is different from the nervous huffs coming from Castle that leans to her right, the weight of his body reassuring in the blur of the situation.

"Ready," a woman's voice calls. So far, Kate thinks that there are four of them. The van starts to move and she can hear the groan of the trash truck moving.

This was a setup; the truck was blocking their way with a purpose. They had been entrapped.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Guys I'm again so happy of the people that keep finding this story, and your support and reviews have been great :)**

**Please continue to spread the word, invite your friends over, I'm enjoying this story a whole lot myself, and I'm glad you are as well!**

**Thanks to all my FB, Tumblr, and Twitter peeps that continue to read and tell me what they think about the story.**

**Hope you liked this one, I'm going to space out a bit the next chapters so that I rush them out!**

**Thanks to KyInHI - You're no Hitler, and I'm no shaming you, but where's my Candy?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Some Acknowledgments:**

**So the world didn't end. I'm aware of it. Some of the actions of this story observe 12/22/12 as the date that _The X-Files_ deemed as "End Game" - If you followed the show, you might be wondering what I'm going to do moving forward. **

**I've always believed that if there was something to happen in that day, it wouldn't be evident to everyone, but something happening under wraps, noticeable only when shit hit the fan, literally. So this is my intention.**

**If you haven't seen _The X-Files_... why haven't you!? I can tell you, it takes a month to watch all 202 episodes and 2 movies, probably full time, so you better start cracking. Believe me, you won't regret it.**

**Also, I don't think I need to say it, but in this universe Castle 3x09 never happened... and if it did, I'll give you the liberty to think of another SciFi show to pen it to.**

**Any way, onto with chapter 4.**

* * *

The kidnappers don't utter a word. Not one. It's dead silent inside the van, and aside from the noise of the engine pushing through the streets, there's no reference to the world around him. He doesn't know how much time has passed, but he thinks it must be at least thirty minutes; enough time to cross the bridge if you know the roads, and these guys are prepared - enough time to move far enough away from the precinct.

The dark cloth over his head makes him feel a bit claustrophobic, and even though he's gone through this already during their brush with the CIA not too long ago, he swears that this time is worse. 'Keep it together,' he chants in his head. This is not like the other times, this time he feels it deep in his gut; this is bigger.

Kate shifts next to him; they've tied their hands in the front and he won't dare try to peek under his mask, but he reaches for her hands. He finds the comfort of her fingers fast enough, clasping tight. She pushes her body to him and he can smell her lotion, the familiar scent making him feel safe in some odd way.

He hasn't heard one word from William and he wonders what the kid must be thinking. He escaped death once today, they vowed to protect him and look at them now.

The obnoxious blare of a cell phone going off startles him. It's Kate's. Angela is probably calling since they haven't shown up at the foster home. At least people will know pretty fast that they're missing. They'll put out an APB on Beckett's cruiser, probably find some witnesses, someone has to have seen something. The guys will be all over this in a matter of minutes; they saved them from a tiger once, this is no different… not really.

The van comes to a stop and someone opens the doors next to him, a sharp and frigid whish of air hitting the few patches of exposed skin that his trench coat doesn't cover.

"Everything Okay?"

A woman's voice, and there's concern in her tone.

"Yeah, we'll be fine."

A man, not the one that ambushed Beckett, probably the one that grabbed him then.

A hand takes him by the arm, firmly but not violent, and ushers him out of the back of the van. He hears a rustle and then a click-clacking, Beckett's heels hitting the concrete floor of this place; she's right next to him.

"Put them in the locker," the other man instructs, and they're guided forward, a few dozen feet he gathers by the length of his steps. They stop and are guided to sit, their captors finally taking away the covers from their heads.

It takes him a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dim light inside the room. They're both sitting on a wood bench that lies next to the wall; nothing else is in the room but the 40-watt bulb that hangs precariously from the tin roofing.

The figure in front of them is a woman, judging by the shape that hides under the tight, black fatigues and jacket. Tall, maybe 5'9", slender and her hands are tanned, like Kate's.

"Stay put, and don't try anything." The woman's voice booms with authority, throaty, and he imagines the kind of villain that this woman could be in one of his novels. Like Dilya, from _A Bloody Storm_, he only hopes she doesn't turn out to be the relentless assassin that he created in his book.

He turns to Kate when the woman leaves the room, locking the heavy door behind her. Her eyes are rimmed with red, she must have been crying or on the verge of tears.

"We'll be okay," he says, trying to sound reassuring and tucking her hair behind her ear with his bound hands. She nods, swallowing thickly, finally holding his hand.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is small, almost childish.

"What are you sorry about?" He tries not to sound judgmental, no need to pick up a fight right now; he knows how it could go.

"I didn't tell you what my intentions were. That was dumb," she explains, and he can see in her face that she regrets her choice of action.

"I don't know what your plan was and how you not telling me could have landed us in this—," he tries to soothe, but she interrupts him.

"Maybe not, but…" Her voice is laced with thick hesitation, as if she won't dare to speak the words. "There's something you need to know."

"Do you know who these people are?" Was there something that William could have told her while she interrogated him?

"No. But I know what they want," she states and he's sure that this explains her behavior since she was alone with the kid. She unfastens the buttons of her coat and grabs onto his hands as she pushes aside the fabric of her blouse.

"Whoa, Kate—," he exclaims, surprised at her choice of movements. "I get your sense of adventure but—."

"Shushh!" she silences him, rolling her eyes. "I'm not pushing for a quickie, just… what's missing?" she asks him, rubbing his fingers against the delicate skin between her breasts and staring at his eyes with a mix of astonishment and urgency.

"Missing? I don't know what you mean—." But then he does. Her scar. The ridged skin… He separates the folds of her oxford shirt, unbuttoning another pearly button and exposing more skin to him. There's no scar, just smooth skin between her lace-covered breasts. "Wait, what? I don't understand."

"He did this to me. William." Her voice is ragged and he can sense she's struggling to admit to this. He can't wrap his head around what his eyes are witness to. He's the one with the crazy theories, not her.

"You're yanking my chain, Kate," he says, ghosting his fingers over her skin, examining the warm and soft surface.

"Am I? Would I joke in a moment like this?" she responds, frustrated, pushing his hands off her. Of all the changes that he'd thought he'd provoke in Kate Beckett, becoming gullible and a believer was not one that he thought would come easy, especially when he doesn't believe this himself.

"He… he took off his bandages and all of his wounds had healed. Not a scratch," she continues, getting up from the bench and starting to pace the room. "He said that he could do that, that he'd always been like this and then that he could heal me. He knew I had a scar, Castle. I never told him, I never showed him. He just… knew."

"But how?" He's still trying to come to terms with this, shift gears into his usual self.

"I don't know but whatever he has, whatever he is, I was right," she states, hushed urgency in her words. "They're looking for this kid. He is what they need."

* * *

Overhead halogen lights don't allow for any shadows in the room. John Doggett opens a can of Red Bull and takes a long swig, rubbing the rough hairs on his face and sitting on the metal chair across from Monica.

The woman has discarded her ski mask and is going through all the items they had collected from Beckett's cruiser, picking them out of the duffle bag. She works through them quickly, only taking a pause to get out of her own heavy, dark jacket.

"Anything useful?" he asks, taking another swig and pushing the sleeves of his thermal shirt up his muscular arms.

"Her weapons that we took off of them… ID, gum, gloves, scarves, iPhones…" she accounts, continuing to pull items and place them on the table. "A couple of note pads, some odd trinkets, a map, hmm… condoms?" she says with a snort, wiggling her eyebrows at him and continuing to pull items from the bag. Beckett's vest comes next and then Castle's – the word WRITER on it; Monica shares a confused look with John and shakes her head as she pulls the last big items out.

"A change of clothes for her… a change of clothes for… him?" Monica wonders, pulling out a man's striped shirt. She shakes the last of the contents out of the bag onto the table, a few small items scattering on the surface.

"Looks like slim pickings." She grabs onto a pair of glasses and examines them, putting them on. "Magic X-Ray glasses? I thought we were after seriously trained professionals here. I guess that the NYPD has a small budget for gadgets."

"Take those off, no time to be checking me out." John smiles at her, his rugged features wrinkling as his blue eyes focus on his partner's movements and grabbing the novelty shades from her hands. "I've successfully avoided body scanners these past few months, I don't need my wife to be ogling me now through fake radiation goggles."

"You're right, I don't need the goggles," she says winking an eye at him. "I'll just wait until the end of the world comes and you finally live up to your promise of managing that 'Apocalyptic Bang'."

"Mon…" he warns, a smirk growing on his face. "How do you always find the weirdest of times to bring up that joke?"

"It's about the only thing I'm looking forward to about this whole 'end of the world' plan we have going on," she comments, half-jokingly, running her fingers through the wild tresses of her dark brown hair. "How long until the NYPD figures out that they're missing?"

"I figure that they are already aware that they are," he says, grabbing onto the cell phones. "These have been ringing nonstop."

She takes them from him, and swipes the white iPhone to unlock it.

"Turn it off. We don't want them running a trace," John recommends.

"Shh, hold on. This is her phone," Monica browses the text messages, a sudden blush creeping across her cheeks and she fights a snicker. "Hmm. Yeah, they're together. You should see these texts. Pretty racy."

"How do you know?"

"He sent her a picture of himself, wearing very nerdy underwear." She shows him a snap of their hostage, clad in Flash Gordon boxer briefs.

"Turn them off…" His voice is annoyed but still humorous.

"Hey! We need to know who they are, right?" she says, grabbing a hold of the other iPhone next. "It's not like this part of the plan was completely researched."

"We need to rush this, before the others come to play," he says, tossing his can into the trash bag tied to the shelf next to him. "I'm sure that they've figured out that we've got the upper hand by now."

"Yeah, but there's still pieces missing. We can't move forward without the diagrams," she says, organizing all of the items in front of her.

The metal door behind them closes shut, startling them out of the conversation.

"Everything Okay?" Doggett asks, turning to the man that approaches them.

"She's with him." His voice comes out calmed but tired. "He's gonna be fine. We just have to… try to…" He struggles to find the right words. "I guess, introduce ourselves."

He sits at the table with them and Monica offers him a protein bar.

"Thanks," he says, taking it from her and nodding in the direction of their captives. "What about them?"

"They've been quiet," Doggett informs him, pushing the items around the table. "No drawings, no diagrams… just what you'd expect, a token pile of items from co-workers shagging on the side."

He nods, clasping his hands behind his head and smirking.

"Glad to know that law enforcement is still keeping the tradition alive," he says eyeing his partners. Monica hands him their wallets.

"Like you can talk," she smirks, leaning back into her chair.

"Detective Katherine Beckett, homicide… and Richard Castle," he states reading from their documents and ignoring the quip. "Not a cop?"

"It doesn't seem like it, tons of credit cards and an impressive amount of money at hand though," Monica states. "Phone has a bunch of interesting apps, family pictures and a very odd collection of weird up-close shots of random things… instagram pictures; he seems to have a fixation for breakfast items."

He raises a confused eyebrow at her and shakes his head while getting up from his seat and grabbing a couple of bottles of water. "I'm going in there. Let me know if she needs me," he adds, gesturing in the direction of the metal door.

"Back you up?" Doggett offers.

"I'll be fine," he assures, grabbing a metal chair and making his way to the door at the other end of the space. "Help Alleyson to load up the SUV, we have to be ready if we need to bolt."

* * *

The whine of the metal safeties clicking open draws Castle's attention. He straightens and she perks up, alert, ready for whatever or whoever should come through the door. He shares a fast look with Beckett. _Here we go_.

A man comes in, bringing a chair into the room and placing it in front of them. He's tall, but not as tall as he is, Castle thinks. His brown hair shows his age; grey on the sides of his temples. His shape is athletic though, strong, his features… weathered. This man has been through some kind of hell.

"I guess there's no point in me apologizing for any part of our… procedures," he starts. "But I'll go ahead and introduce myself anyway, see if we can help each other, maybe reach some kind of agreement."

Beckett shifts in her seat, clearing her throat.

"My name is Fox Mulder. I…" He hesitates, taking a pause to gather his next words. He runs his hands through his hair, weariness evident in his entire posture. "That's my kid you got there." Castle throws him an unbelieving stare. Who is this guy and why is he claiming to be William's father? Something about the man's eyes though… it perks Castle's interest. "It's a long story," he says, dismissing their confused faces and taking a seat in front of them, placing a couple of water bottles on the floor next to him.

"I might be wrong, but I'd say this is a good a time as any for a little narrative," Castle says, trying to control his tone. He might be interested in the tale but the fact remains that he is speaking to the man who abducted he and Beckett. He's not in any mood to be agreeable.

"I understand that we've put you in a difficult situation…" Mulder continues, and Castle has to fight his urge to scoff at the comment. "Believe me, this was not our intention, but it just so happens that things didn't go as planned and well, we had to improvise."

"Did you kill the Van de Kamps?" Beckett asks, cutting to the chase. Her tone is sharp, commanding, and Castle mentally high-fives her as the man flinches.

"We did not," he says, taking a deep breath. "But I can see why you would think that and I understand if you don't believe in my word at all. But we're not the only ones out there. I guess that no ones' plans are going accordingly tonight. You just happened to step into…" Mulder pauses, choosing his words, Castle thinks. His gut tells him that this man can be trusted, but nothing he has so far said actually convinces him of this fact. "A very, let's say _unfamiliar_ territory… to give it a definition."

"Can you quit with the shadow discourse and just tell us what's going on?" Kate demands, tired of Mulder's meandering explanations.

Mulder takes a deep breath. Castle can tell that this man is sizing up how much he can trust them. He gets up from his chair and goes to them, taking out a knife. For a split second fear goes through Beckett's features, but the man grabs her hands, cutting both her zip ties and Castle's in quick succession.

"I used to be FBI, you know?" he says, putting away the knife and handing them the water bottles.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, stationed at the Hoover Building in DC. I led my own little department: The X-Files." He sits down again, tiredly, opens a protein bar that he produces from his pocket and takes a bite. "I spent a good chunk of my life fighting the good fight with Uncle Sam until… let's just say, I found out that finding justice for this world was going to be hard if I stayed in the confines of a dusty basement regulated by dumb rules." He smiles, almost wistfully while talking of his past and Castle instantly wants to know more of that story. "That and well, nobody wanted me there anyways. I guess I was always something of a joke to the upper brass of the Hoover."

"What are these 'X-Files'?" Kate asks, rubbing her wrists.

He finishes the snack, methodically folding the wrapper and tucking it on his pants' side pocket.

"Cases that have been deemed of an unknown nature… everything from your everyday, biological mystery to, well, little gray men."

'Little gray men? For real?' Castle thinks. The government actually had an office for that?He'd love to unleash a million curious questions that are dancing in his head, but he bites his tongue and waits for Mulder to continue; there are more pressing matters at hand. Like the matter of them unceremoniously being kidnapped and shoved into a van, held hostage.

"I discovered that the forces at play do not flinch at a gun being pulled out on them, neither does jail time."

'Forces at play'? Why doesn't he just spit it out already? How bad could it possibly be?

"I discovered that while violence and terrorists might make our everyday lives a mess, there are bigger entities at play; conspiracies that would only fit in fiction books and on the back pages of the tabloids."

He does have a knack for storytelling at least, Castle thinks as the deep monotone of the man's voice draws him in.

"My own search for the truth drew me deep into this conspiracy. While people were worried about the danger on this planet, they seemed to forget that we're not alone. We've never been alone."

We haven't? Castle is beginning to think this man is nuts. He glances over to Beckett. '_Completely nuts' _is the expression he expects on her features, but she seems to be raptly paying attention. He opens his bottle and takes a swig, instantly berating himself, what if these are drugged? Maybe he's becoming a little paranoid as well.

"The dangers that threaten this planet do not stop by killing a terrorist holed up in Pakistan or by killing a wealthy dictator."

"I don't understand how your son, if that's to be believed, and us, became part of this problem." Beckett asks, interrupting Mulder's narration.

"Like I said, it's a long story. You're looking at twenty plus years of investigation, murders, abductions…" Mulder sighs, the weariness evident on his face. "And that's only the span of time that I shared this burden with my partner. Believing is not easy; even for her it took a number of years, near death experiences and our son to finally… try to come to terms with it."

Castle feels the last bout of information wash over Beckett as she fidgets in her seat and looks at him. He doesn't need to hear her thoughts to know the string of connections she's formulating in her head. Partners that got romantically involved, partners that had a child together. It's not them, but it could be them… if he was an UFO nut and this was a story being told a couple of years from now.

Hell, he could be an UFO nut; maybe that could be his next book. _Space Heat_… He can feel Kate's eye roll already.

"Our lives became an instrumental part of this whole conspiracy," Mulder continues, grief and frustration thick in his voice, bringing Castle back to this man's reality. "We became pawns in a dangerous chess game… And our son is the most important piece on the board."

"If all you need is the boy, why are you holding us?" he asks.

"You're right, we could have just walked away," Mulder confirms, leaning against the back of his chair, "but it just so happens that you may have access to something else that we need."

Mulder takes a moment, sizing them up, his eyes going from Castle's to Beckett's.

"There's an amount of things that your team collected tonight from the Van de Kamps. We're going to need those," he says, eyes fixated on Beckett.

"What makes you think that I'm going to just bend over and hand you my evidence?" she retorts.

"You're right. You have no reason to trust us. I wouldn't." He lays his hands out in front of him, a gesture of honesty that Castle is hard-pressed not to believe. As irritated as he is by the whole situation, for some reason the crazy talk from this man rings true.

"Look, you're just lucky that it was us who intercepted you first, and not the other guys," Mulder presses, staring intently at Kate.

"What other guys?" Castle interrupts.

"There are many forces at play, but the 'other guys' are the ones you don't want to mess with. The 'other guys' are the ones that shot the Van de Kamps tonight." Mulder gulps, pain evident on his face. He knew them, Castle surmises. "It's a shame. They were good people, good friends. We dropped the ball, we should have prevented it."

"Okay. Walk us through this." Kate says. "You say that William is your son, yet the Van de Kamps were raising him… and you guys were… looking after _them_?"

"That's one way of putting it," he replies. "Believe me, if I was to explain the details of what this situation entails, it would make your head spin."

"Try me," Kate responds. "Where do William's _special_ abilities fit into these unknown details?"

Mulder stares at Beckett knowingly, nodding and letting a small smile creep onto his lips at Beckett's admittance that they know more than they had suspected.

"None of our investigations came without great sacrifice. Our lives became a part of this. They made us a part of it." He continues with a more straightforward tone. "These factions need my son's _special abilities,_ as you put them, to fulfill their agenda, a prophecy of sorts."

"We tried fighting them, I even tried to walk away from my family to avoid endangering them any further," these memories obviously bring a sour taste to the man, his words filling his expression with grief, "but that only proved to strengthen their resolve. It was not easy to figure out their objectives."

"Nothing we tried seemed to work." Mulder gets up from his seat and slowly starts pacing the room. "We thought that by hiding him from these forces we could delay their search, try to give him a chance to have a normal life, away from the hell that we were forced into."

"You gave him away…" Kate interjects, figuring out what came next.

"It had been the right decision at the moment, albeit a difficult one for my partner, one that she had to make on her own." Castle assumes this had happened while he was away from his family, and he can feel the story brewing an unsettling anxiety in his stomach. "We have fought so long to have a normal life… how can you, as a mother, make this decision without diving into your own destructive spiral?"

Castle can only imagine what they must have gone through; a broken family, the distress of such a difficult decision.

"The grip of the FBI became too constricting, putting my life in danger as I became too close to the truth." Mulder braces to the back of the chair, and Castle checks on Kate, her elbows braced on her knees, taking a swig of her bottle. "My partner had managed until then, to keep a hold onto her life at the bureau, but after that we had to cut ties with that world and go on our own."

"When was this?" Castle asks, trying to put some sense into his mental timeline.

"2002," Mulder informs. Ten years, they have been running for ten years.

"We kept up knowledge of William, without involving the Van de Kamps at first… until his abilities started to develop." He continues, "I'd been watching from afar, through crippled sources, trying to put our lives back together away from prying eyes. We laid low, and eventually got successful at it, so I hid the surfacing of his abilities from his mother… until we were tracked down by the FBI."

"Did they want him?" Kate asks, with a wrinkled brow, concerned.

"No, they brought us in to consult on a case," he says dismissing the thought with a tired scoff, "but that brought the spotlight back on us, and I had to come clean to her; fill her in on my findings. We could not avoid the situation anymore."

"So you tried to get him back…" Kate assumes, and Mulder shakes his head.

"We knew that Jane and George loved him as their own. They didn't know what to make of his faculties as they became bolder and more powerful, and we started to fear that they would bring too much attention to themselves." He rubs his face, the story taking an evident toll on him. "Facing our own fears, we decided to contact them; it wasn't easy to explain the situation, but we vowed to protect them. They would have the son they always wanted, we would remain unknown to him, for as long as we could."

"So what happened?" Castle asks, completely immersed in the story; while he had questioned the veracity of it at first, the expression on this man's face has grounded him. He had interviewed dozens of people for his books, interrogated countless suspects; this man spoke a heavy truth, a painful truth.

"These forces kept looking for him," Mulder responds, looking at his hands in impotence, "trying to fulfill a prophecy that set him straight into the middle of an event that would unfold in the shadows, under wraps; an event that would turn humanity in helpless victims of an organized take over."

The last statement hangs in the air and he sees that Beckett is trying to process all of this. Confusion, fear and astonishment are written all over her face. He feels like he just stepped into a rabbit hole and deep down he's fighting the urge to climb out as fast as he can. He resists because he needs to know the ending of this story.

"All these years we've been in contact with other people like us that want to prevent this; outcasts that have been preparing for what seems inevitable." Mulder explains, his tone becoming more controlled as he tries to lay down the reality that has become his life. "Soon enough, it became evident that we needed to escape this country and the tendrils of a corrupt government that has spent years preparing for this scenario."

"So you were guarding their escape to Morocco?" Kate asks, the pieces coming together in her head.

"We've spent out lives fighting the future… the future is now."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Thanks so much to all of you that have reviewed. As I said today to TDevol; we don't get paid for this (yet) so reviews are our currency! And they keep us in check!**

**I know I said I was going to space out the next posts, but I'm so excited to be writing this and for your encouragement that I can't hold back.**

**This chapter in particular was a hard one to write because I avoid exposition like the plague. But it was completely necessary for me to try to make sense of how they've gotten to this point in time. More of this to come from a different angle, from different perspectives, and I hope that they prove to be entertaining not only to X-Files fans but also for you Castillions.**

**Congratulations to all of you that survived the Alien Zombie Apocalypse! You're alive, until the supersoldiers get you, that is.**

**My undying love to KyInHI, who not only managed to post a kick ass chapter of Hard Candy, but also went and Beta-ed this and pushed me through Mythology nerves.**

**REVIEW me! and go and Review her as well!**


	5. Chapter 5

**MERRY X-MAS, EVERYONE!**

**I didn't have the time to go buy each of you presents, but here's my best effort to write you one!**

**I'm giving KyInHI co-writer credit on this chapter because she helped tons to find Gates' voice, she's awesome like that.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The bullpen is buzzing with activity when she arrives. It's been three hours since Beckett and Castle left the precinct and set to meet Jenkings at Sister Elena's foster home. It was supposed to be a brief, twenty-minute ride. They never got there.

Captain Victoria Gates strides with purpose towards the detectives huddled in front of the white dry erase board, a feeling of dread settling in her gut. It's never good news at this hour of the night.

She had been woken up by her phone buzzing on her nightstand at 1AM, Esposito's name flashing on the screen. Something awful is up; her detective knows better than to wake her up at that hour.

"Any word?" Gates asks, taking account of the information on the board.

"No, sir," Esposito starts, worry written all over his face. Yeah, it's bad. She can always expect Ryan's emotions to be simmering just below the surface but Esposito likes to keep it closer to the vest. The slightly pale pallor to his face and the dry-erase marker clenched between his fingers are a sure-fire sign of his distress. Ryan, for his part, shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting between her and the sparsely filled-in murder board. He looks downright green.

"Come into my office, I want the full rundown."

Ryan and Esposito follow her in, they take a seat in front of her and she mentally prepares for the debriefing while she sheds her coat and puts on her glasses to read the documents handed to her.

When it comes to Beckett and Castle, it's never simple. She reads the report, all the details of the attack on the diner spelled out for her - not exactly your 'garden variety' hit.

"How's Karpowski?"

"She's fine," Ryan responds. "Went home after we took her statement. She helped to bring some of the evidence load back to the station."

Captain Gates breathes out a sigh of relief; she likes Karpowski, she's by the book and straightforward. She never has to worry about whether Karpowski is running headlong into danger unassisted. Sometimes she wishes all her detectives were as straight-laced as Karpowski. Then again, while Karpowski has a perfectly respectable close rate, she simply doesn't get the results that the rather unorthodox team standing in front of her does.

The 'awesome foursome' she secretly refers to them as in her head; something they will _never_ be informed of. The trouble they cause more than compensates for the high solve rate. Each of them has their own gift, with their own strengths and flaws; so different from each other, yet a perfect mix.

"So…" she starts, leaning back on her chair and easing her glasses off, "you came back from the crime scene…"

"And Beckett was interviewing the kid," Esposito informs and Gates takes a look at William's picture from his passport. He looks like a normal, cute pre-teen; a soft smiling face looks straight at the camera. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Nothing seemed off?"

"No, sir," Ryan says, shaking his head.

"What about Castle?"

"We talked to him, about some of the evidence we found in the victim's SUV," Esposito continues to narrate, rubbing his neck and cracking it from side to side. "He went in, talked to Beckett, Jenkins left for the foster home and they left shortly after with the boy."

"What time was this?"

"11 p.m." Ryan states.

"Did she confirm that she planned to come back?"

"No, Sir, but she would have only told us if she didn't plan to." And she knows Beckett; she knows that her best detective might sometimes get lost in a case but she has always been respectful of her rules… unless there's something important at play, something Beckett hasn't quite figured out and doesn't know who to trust.

Gates hopes like hell that this doesn't involve her or her mother's case. She likes to think that after the roof incident the detective has learned a valuable lesson, learned to trust her. She dismisses the thought. Kate _has_ been different since then; more cautious, happier too.

Perhaps she needs to learn a little trust herself.

"When Jenkins called we knew something was up," Ryan interrupts her thoughts.

"Her cruiser was found away from the expected route, no trace of them or any witnesses to suggest what might have happened." Gates cannot help but worry about the doors that keep closing with every detail Esposito feeds her. Whoever is behind the Van de Kamps shooting is probably behind the disappearance of the members of her team.

"How about their phones?" she asks, hopeful.

"We called and they didn't respond, by the time we tried to get a hold to triangulate their signal they had been turned off," Ryan laments. She can see that he's running anxious; the Irish detective has never been able to keep a poker face.

Gates rises from her seat and cards a hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. There have been some close calls for Beckett and Castle in the past, but there was always something to follow; a lead, an idea.

"So what are we thinking?" She leans on the side of her desk, arms crossed protectively around her waist. Esposito adjusts on his seat and leans forward, a grave expression darkening his features.

"We think that whoever planned this hit on the Van de Kamps tried to finish it," he says, his eyes focused on hers, trying not to utter the possibility that she's well aware of; if these people shot that couple with no hesitation, what would stop them from killing their colleagues?

"Were there signs of struggle in the car?" she wonders.

"That's the weird part, Captain," Ryan answers, and she can see that he's trying to do his best to not let his nervousness take over. "The car was emptied. They took everything inside but the tire iron; they broke the front windows but left no blood or shell casings."

And those are good signs, regardless of their lack of clues. If Castle and Beckett weren't hurt at the car, then it stands to reason that whoever took them wasn't only after the boy, they want her team as well. Alive, she hopes.

"Was there anything in particular about the Van de Kamps that might shine a light onto why were they being hunted down?" she asks, and Esposito trades a look with Ryan. She knows these two well enough by now to know that they're either hesitant about seeming foolish, or they're covering something up.

Esposito clears his throat and she glares at them, growing impatient.

"Well, sir," Esposito starts, "that's what we were discussing with Castle before they left."

The Latino eyes his partner and a silent exchange between the two ensues. 'You do it!' 'No, _you do it!' _She can almost hear the bickering. Gates coughs to catch their attention and two pairs of eyes snap back to hers.

"We found numerous drawings, perhaps… done by the kid," Ryan informs, rolling his eyes at his partner and producing a number of weathered sheets of paper tucked into evidence bags. "Piles of them placed away carefully in their luggage."

"What's so remarkable about them?" she says, taking some of them and adjusting her glasses back. It looks like a bunch of scribbles to her.

"They seem like nonsense, sir, but…" Ryan explains, hesitant, shy, "I guess, I... I just have a feeling about this."

"A feeling, Detective Ryan?"

"Whoever took them sir, is looking for something. Why take everything that was inside the cruiser?" Esposito says, defending his partner's theory. "They're looking for something."

They have a point. But these drawings? She can't make any sense of them. What could anybody want with what appears to be a stash of doodles?

"There's nothing we have found in that pile of evidence that could be valuable," Ryan completes, and she can see that he's struggling to make peace with this piece of evidence as much as she is. "Only these odd drawings and tickets to Morocco."

She looks at the activity outside her office; uniforms going through the Van de Kamps' belongings next door, detectives busy at the phones, perhaps trying to settle other cases, and then she returns her gaze to the detectives in her office… the nervous twitch of Ryan's mouth, the tight fists, clenched at Esposito's side. None of this makes sense and it's beginning to take its toll on her as well; a dull thud is beginning to make its presence known at the base of her skull.

She hates to think of the danger that could be threatening a couple of their own… an innocent kid.

"Have we notified the victim's next of kin?" she asks, going through the steps of the well-known investigative procedure.

"They're flying in this morning," Esposito informs. Good, she thinks. Her team is still thinking straight, that's a plus. She worries sometimes that this team is too tight, getting in over their heads and throwing protocol out the window when a case becomes personal.

"Anyone take a look at these?" she says, pushing the drawings on her desk.

"Not yet. We're trying to find someone that could." Ryan's tone tells her that he's aware of what she's going to say next.

"Detectives… we're dead in the water right now, without a clue about where Castle and Beckett are, if they're okay and what the intentions of these people are," she says, taking a pause and sitting back down. Bile threatens to creep up, and she doesn't know if it's the lack of sleep or her own instincts warning her that something is terribly wrong. "We're grasping at straws and weak conclusions here without any real knowledge. Find me someone that could analyze these drawings and notify me when the next of kin gets here."

The men in front of her nod in understanding. She knows that she's not telling them something they don't already know, but they also need to hear that confirmation to keep them going. It's her job as captain; moral support and a firm shove in the right direction.

They get up from their seats, and start on their way out.

"Sir, should we contact their families?" Esposito asks softly from the doorjamb.

She really hopes it won't come to that. It's the hardest part about being captain; the responsibility to her team's families. But right now, they don't _know_ anything. There's no need to cause unneeded worry if Castle and Beckett have just gone off half-cocked, following a lead. She doesn't _like_ lecturing her detectives, but she'd rather raise hell over them going off the grid than have to inform their families that they're missing.

"Not yet, Esposito. Not yet."

* * *

A pregnant pause fills the room after they hear the last of Mulder's narration. Beckett leans against the wall behind her, her fingers gripping her knees and her eyes focused on the groves of the tin roof, searching. She tries to control her breathing but even that seems too difficult when she cannot make sense of this moment. The story seeming too impossible, too unlikely, but equally hard to dismiss.

She's not the one to believe in these kinds of things; her world doesn't revolve around crazy realities or outlandish theories. That is Castle's territory. Even then, half of the time he relishes in it just for the sake of his own amusement, testing her tolerance for his wild imagination, not because he's a true believer.

She needs proof, hard facts, and irrefutability… but then, she cannot explain what she experienced tonight. She can't disregard her instincts, and right now they're immersed in a tough battle.

While she wants to remain rational, every single fiber of her is urging her to believe this man's words, his experiences, and the sincerity that she can read in his features. The pain that this man speaks of is too deep rooted to just be the product of his imagination or some sort of insane paranoia.

She raises one hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose, sliding her fingers to her lips which purse in deep concentration. She knows that at any other time she would have dismissed all of this nonsense and barreled through the wall of deranged ramblings that she was just privy to.

A conspiracy that extends deep into the government, factions fighting over a child, even she can't help but berate herself for formulating those thoughts. Is not that she doesn't believe in the possibility of the lack of integrity in the system, she's well familiar with that, she's been a victim of it herself; it's the nature of it that rattles her.

She lets her fingers ghost over the place where her scar used to mark one of the most painful turning points of her life, its absence making her question everything she holds true. She needs to understand, she needs to make sense of all of this. But most importantly, she needs to hang onto who she knows she is, even if just for the sake of holding onto her sanity.

"Why do you need the diagrams?" she asks, her voice breaking the silence that has taken over the room.

"They're a guide, messages only decipherable to some," Mulder explains. "They're vital for our next step."

"Which is?" Castle's question reminds her that she's not alone in this. They're riding yet another earthquake together.

"Escape."

The word hangs heavy and the implications of it race through her mind. She ponders as she exchanges a look with Castle, her mind going back to the moment just a few hours ago as she reluctantly dressed in front of his bedroom mirror. They had rushed after they got the call from the precinct. 'Just another call' she'd thought, just another case that she'd have to resolve, bringing justice for a grieving family; another part of their routine. She can feel the universe laughing at her.

"This is what we propose," Mulder continues, his tenor steady and straightforward. "One of us will escort you to your precinct, we will provide documentation that will identify us and won't raise suspicions to your superiors. You give us the drawings and we'll let your partner go."

"Just like that?" she asks, doubting the ease with which he has laid out the plans.

"Just like that." His confirmation is filled with a confidence that she cannot trust wholeheartedly.

"What makes you think that we won't turn you in or that it would even work? What makes you think that you can trust us?" she digs, testing the man's resolve. He looks at her, his eyes fixed on hers, and for a moment she almost thinks that he's reading her thoughts; it makes her feel naked, exposed.

"Nothing more than what my own experience with people can tell me about you," he admits, and the shift in him is noticeable. "You're a truth seeker, just like me, just like us… And you won't leave your partner behind."

She takes a deep breath and evaluates her options; the list in her mind growing short. Castle fidgets next to her, his hand sliding from his thigh to hers with just the briefest of touches. She needs to regroup.

"We're going to need a minute," she requests, and the man nods in agreement as he rises from the chair.

"Knock when you're ready," Mulder says, as he throws them a last look before exiting the room and closing the door behind him, the sound of metal on metal bouncing off the walls of the stark space.

"A penny for your thoughts." Castle's voice comes as a welcome companion in the silence that drowns the place.

"I don't know, Castle. This just sounds too…" She struggles to find the right term.

"…Too surreal?" he completes, just barely finding a word that could illustrate her feelings.

"That's one way to put it," she concedes, her lips forming a straight line, her breath hitching in her chest. She's trying to control her anxiety, but she can feel it brewing deep, threatening to spill.

"What's the worst that can happen?" he asks, and her mind clicks into gear, formulating a dozen scenarios, none of them favorable, none of them safe, none of them telling her that they'd walk out of this situation unharmed.

She gets up from the bench and takes a good look around the space; grey dilapidated walls and dirty concrete floors, its blemishes barely noticeable in the dim light.

"What's the _worst_? That everything he just told us is a lie," she responds, her voice harsher than she had intended, tension getting the best of her. "That we're possibly letting the killers go and facilitating child abduction."

"Funny that you should use that word."

Leave it up to him to try to lighten the mood in a situation like this. He's trying to be there for her, he's trying to be the partner he's always been; the one that makes her seek ground in the oddest of ways.

"What do you think we should do?" she braces her hands to her hips, her shoulders sagging. 'Give me your best shot, Castle' she thinks, 'show me what I'm failing to see.'

"I think that they're risking their lives as well by going with you." He gets up from the bench as well and stands in front of her, reaching for her hand. "For all they know, you could turn them in the minute that you set foot in the 12th."

"Castle, I'd be putting you in danger. I'd be lying," she states as lets him twine his fingers between hers, the consequences of this plan too great not to take account. "I'd be committing federal offense by handing them evidence on a case. Let alone violating procedure and my own personal ethics."

He squeezes her hand, trying to soothe the away the rush.

"This is not how we do things," she continues, her voice fast, hushed, looking straight into his eyes, seeking reassurance but also understanding. "We bring the suspects in, we interrogate them, and we follow the leads and catch our killers. We would be trusting his word alone on this. We have no proof that these other 'forces' are even out there."

He lets her hand go and lets his fingers run through his hair; he's also fighting the lack of choices, she can see it in his eyes.

"And what's the alternative? Say no? Do you want to say no after what you have experienced tonight?" He won't let her dismiss her own admissions because that's evidence he knows she won't be able to walk away from. It would mock her every time she looked in the mirror; it would haunt her as his hands find her heart in the middle of the night.

"Maybe this is one of those situations that you have to look the other way," he admits and she knows that for him this is an option that doesn't come easy. He always wants to find the story, whatever that may be.

"Are you really proposing this?" she asks, trying to measure his resolve.

"Do you think that this is any easier for me to accept?" She knows it's not, she knows that answer. Their thirst for justice, for the truth, is equal. "If they were really the killers, don't you think we'd be dead by now?"

"They need us," she responds. They are trapped in an unfamiliar game.

"Do they really? He gave us a name, he let us see his face, and he let us into his story…" he challenges her, and she knows it's true.

Their captors have been mildly careless to share with them. Maybe they are looking for empathy, maybe trying to move them with a story filled with human sacrifice, but can she truly believe them?

"I don't know about you, Kate," he says, his own shoulders sagging but not in defeat but realization, "that's an awful amount of detail to just be a made up story. Even I couldn't come up with that amount of characterization."

She has to admit that if it is a made up story, they have gone to an awful lot of trouble. Castle searches her eyes, and she can see it in them; this is one of those few moments in which, when faced with danger, even a joke about his abilities doesn't come out of a compulsion to lift the mood or gloating about his talent. It's coming out of an admittance of his own limitations, grounding them both back to reality.

"It would be easy for us to close in on them. The minute that anything went wrong you'd put his face on every patrol car in the city, in every train station, in every airport." he states, reassuring and logical. "I get what you're thinking, Kate; they're desperate to get their hands on this child. And a very sound theory would be that they would kill the adoptive parents who would be trying to flee from them… It does make sense, but when have we had a case that the solution is handed to us like that, tied up in a pretty little bow?"

"But it does make sense, Castle." Beckett warns.

"Then what do you propose we do?" He's challenging her to think, but for her it is a decision on whether to follow her instincts and protocol or to throw the book out the window and think outside the box. It's not something that she can take lightly.

She takes a pause, random pieces starting to gather in odd shapes in her head. Her eyes search the floor in intense concentration. It's not only the homicide she has to solve; William's life is also at stake here. He's also a victim she has to guard.

He comes to her and lifts her chin to him, locking eyes with her, searching for contact.

"Hey, I'm here. I'm right here. Don't shut me out." His voice is laced with a mix of emotions that she knows very well. She lets him wrap his arms around her waist, and he pulls her to him, the warmth of his body suddenly proving to be the comfort that she was lacking. His scent relaxes her as she buries her face into the crook of his neck and she can feel his fingers delicately stroking her back, reeling her back in, making her feel safe.

She takes a deep breath and lifts her face to look at him. He's her partner; partners work together. They risk it all and they go down together. She lets him caress her nose with his, and he grazes his lips softly on hers with no demands, just seeking the contact, reassuring his presence beside her. Their kiss is the push she needs, even when her thoughts are not yet clear.

"I might be crazy to think that this is our only option," she says leaning her forehead against his, "but I think it's the only way." She separates from him, straightening his collar; he watches quietly, trying to figure out her decision.

It might not work… but _maybe_ it will.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I don't think I'll every get tired of thanking those that are following this story. Really. It's heartwarming what you write to me wherever you reach me with your comments. **

**I'm having a ball writing this while running a well needed marathon of _The X-Files_ and listening to Mark Snow. In the past few days I've seen 25 episodes and it never gets old.**

**Next chapter is almost done; I considered making it one big one, but it would have been too much! Interesting things coming ;)**

**Spare me a tip with a REVIEW, you know how much I love them. Tell a friend, share it out there, read it aloud to your family while opening your presents. I know is not exactly a X-masy story, but hey, neither is _Die Hard_ or _Lethal Weapon_ and those are staple X-mas movies in my book!**

**BWJ**


	6. Chapter 6

**Allow me to introduce you guys to a new character.**

**An interesting one, I think.**

* * *

"Damn it… come on…"

Allyson Phoenix huddles over, pulling the device closer to herself and leaning against the outer wall of the warehouse; her small figure drowning under a dark winter jacket and hat. She concentrates on her task as her cigarette hangs precariously from her reddened, wind burned lips.

"Really? I mean, really… You gotta be kidding me!" she mutters, making a quick of the flick of her cigarette and continuing with her maneuver.

Her eyes narrow, 'Come on. Make it past, just this time… make it past,' she repeats in her head; she presses harder on the buttons, as if by doing so the task will become easier.

She hits the right button again and misses her mark, making her grip the device tighter.

"Frigging Mario," she grits out.

The video game plays on the monochromatic screen of a 1994 Nintendo Game Boy; she misses the jump of level eight and she groans, loudly, making her lose grip of the cigarette from between her lips, dropping it onto the slush by her feet.

"And… there goes thirty cents…" she laments, stepping on the wet stick, burying it deeper into the mud; the 'Game Over' music from the game mocks her frustration. "Perfect, just perfect." She turns off her game and tucks it into the side pocket of her cargo pants.

She checks the perimeter but everything is as quiet as a mouse. The structures in front of her rise in geometric blocks of concrete and metal, their rigidity only softened by the mounds of snow hanging from the rafters and roofs, piling up against the walls. Nighttime makes everything seem one dimensional, high contrast silhouettes and shapes, like the graphics of her antiquated game.

Allyson pulls on the Velcro of her jacket pocket, picks out another cigarette and lights up, taking a drag and cracking her neck. She's anxious, and sometimes these help; sometimes make it worse. Right now, they're working. She exhales, releasing a thick cloud around her, a mix of smoke and steam in the frigidity of the weather.

She's taking a break while John hauls the larger chests to the vehicle, having lost a bet with her over how many Red Vines she could stuff into her mouth without choking; he was now stuck with the last leg of the load.

She takes another drag and the mint blend courses through her, comforting, soothing; she doesn't really care how much they frown upon her vice, especially since Monica's usually sneaking one or two when John isn't looking.

She knows why Mulder doesn't like it and she's tired of hearing the stories over and over again. 'Cigarette Smoking Son of a Bitch' - His stories once seemed outrageous but gradually they became believable; so much so that the nickname now seems to fall short.

They often make lists and quote to her all of the dangers of smoking, yet she can outrun all of them, do a thousand crunches daily and beat both of her male counterparts in a push up race. It also helps that she's just turned twenty but she won't remind them of their age, it never benefits either party; especially when it comes to sharing the odd shot of whiskey or two.

She takes another drag, deep, and she can feel herself getting there; she's almost calm… as much as she thinks she can be anyway. She really doesn't know true _calmness_.

The door to the warehouse opens wide as Doggett pulls along the black and silver case; rifles and ammo. He throws her a look, shaking his head.

"What number is that one today? Thirty five?" he asks, half-jokingly, a little out of breath.

She scoffs.

"Like I have the money for that kind of chain smoking," she retorts, walking up to him and watching him drag the case along the snow. "I'll have you know that this is only my fourth today."

"That's four smokes too many…" John says, between groans, as he lifts one of the ends of the case onto the bed of the SUV.

"Oh, hush!" she answers, annoyed, flicking the stick away from her onto a mound of snow nearby. "See? I can quit anytime."

She takes out her Chapstick and spreads the balm onto her lips, soothing the tenderness, and she smiles back at John.

"You're just not gonna move a finger, are ya?"

"Hey, that'll teach you not to dare me!" She sees him struggle with the last case, trying to fit it into the crowded rear of the vehicle. "It would be a weakness of character if I gave into your pitiful annoyance."

He shakes his head at her, and she knows he might be hurting by doing all this by himself, but he also enjoys their games.

She never had a brother, a real brother, and while John Doggett could easily be her father, that's not how she would describe him. Their camaraderie makes their days lighter; it has taken a while, but just like any sibling relationship, they've finally found common ground.

The wind picks up, sending white flurries on a crazy dance around them as they finish loading the SUV. Allyson cannot help but feel the nerves come back to her, and so she surveys the area at every chance she gets.

Her skin feels tight as the wind swipes her cheeks and she adjusts her winter hat tighter around her face, light brown strands peeking out from underneath. She should have put on more layers, she thinks as she tightens up the ties of her jacket and kicks the snow that has packed onto the soles of her boots.

She focuses on the lamps around the secluded complex.; they create pools of light on the snow that covers the ground, its white reflection a stark contrast against the dark shadows, and she tries to make out the ghost shapes in them, listening carefully, aware of the danger that could be hiding anywhere.

"Here," John offers a ratchet strap to her. "Secure that last case to the frame."

Allyson takes the tie from him and climbs inside, making her way through the crowded piles as John trades her post, alert; he's also aware of their vulnerability.

She pulls on the ties and confirms their grasp, they're ready. Everything is set to go.

"Come on." He urges her out of the car, extending a hand to her, but she dismisses the gesture. "Fine, super girl," he says, a light-hearted comment about her stubbornness.

"Blah, blah, blah." She adjusts her hat again, a puff of steam accompanying her words. "No need for your gentlemanly ways."

He rolls her eyes at her as he closes the back doors of the truck. "We should be ready to go as soon as Mulder figures out what comes next."

"Does he even know himself?" she asks as they make their way back into the warehouse.

"He does but you know how it goes with him; he likes to keep us on our toes," John responds, locking the door behind him and shaking the snow off his jacket. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Allyson starts her way back down the hallway slowly, taking off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket, considering their situation.

She's known Fox Mulder for four years now, well, in person at least. Distant are the days when she had found him while looking for answers in dumb internet forums, too afraid to tell the people around her what she was experiencing. They wouldn't have understood, but he did because he was looking for answers as well. He had earned her trust even when she had known that it was a huge gamble to share her stories with him, and in the process he'd learned to trust her as well. He had become her savior in a way; when her life in the foster home had become too oppressing and she had decided to run away and meet him.

If John has become her brother, then Mulder has been a father figure and a boss; welcoming her into their family, giving her power over her faculties and embracing her curiosity to discover the paths to her past. He's been encouraging when she faced her demons, and protective when unveiling that she's a product of these forces that they've vowed to fight.

"I think that we're so close to this being over," she states, measuring her words. "But everything could turn in a split-second. They're out there, waiting for our next move, waiting for the opportunity when they can take advantage of our vulnerability."

"Is that what your logic tells you… or is that what you're sensing?" His question draws a small smile from her; the man in front of her is nothing but the most rational man she's ever met in her life, but he trusts her, and she's learned to trust him back.

"Why, John Doggett, you've come a long way," she answers, holding back the snicker in her voice. "No more ESP jokes to throw at me?" she teases, as they reach the end of the dark hallway and enter the freight elevator.

"Hey..." he says as they pull down on the heavy doors, its gears clamping heavily. "I can't fight you anymore, not after Allentown."

The memories of that afternoon are still very vivid. She can still hear the crunch of dry leaves under her feet, their steps rushing through the woods as the sun came down; the skeletons of dead trees all around them, filtering the dying light as they ran deep into the woods and towards their camp. They had gone into town to try and find a replacement for their satellite auxiliary antenna; their equipment was starting to show wear and tear, making it harder to keep communication with their sources.

She liked those moments, when so many people didn't surround her and she could zone out into her own thoughts; at that moment it had just been her voice… and well… John's. She had been amused at his mental ramblings, an array of inner dialogue that included everything from scolding himself over choosing the wrong underwear that day, to wondering what kind of panties his wife was wearing. Sometimes she wished she had an 'off' switch, or that they did. It would certainly be useful some nights.

And then she'd heard it, another voice, coming in weakly but growing stronger as they continued down their path. Someone was near them; someone was zeroing in on them.

She'd stopped dead in her tracks and drawn her gun, straight at John's back. He'd stopped when he failed to hear her steps and turned around, startled at the sight of her aiming the barrel at him. He'd reached for his gun but she had shot first, the bullet flying by, just inches away from his left temple, followed by a strangled grunt coming from the tall grass behind him.

Allyson had pushed him to the ground, landing on top of him and fixing her next mark to their right and shooting fast, precisely. Another dull thud falling and she'd kept listening; John's ragged breath and the confusion running in his head creating a white noise that clouded her senses. She had placed a hand on his mouth, shushing him while she listened carefully, her eyes trying to detect the threat she knew was hiding from them.

She had controlled her breath, concentrating, zoning out everything until she found it; a fearful but menacing stream of consciousness, trying to calibrate the best shot, his thoughts coming loud into her mind, too loud. She took a chance and pushed her body upwards, rolling off John's chest and landing on her back, snapping quickly to her knees and shooting straight forward.

Silence had ensued… and John's mental string of curses. Just another day on the road.

"Saved your ass, didn't I?" she mocks, snapping back to the present as the elevator makes its way slowly down.

"You sure did," he agrees, shaking his head at her. "Thanks for not gloating too much about it."

"Anytime," Allyson assures him. He looks at her, expecting a witty response. And for all its worth, while she doesn't have one, she can try to explain the shift that she now faces. "It's different now, with him here."

"William?"

"Yes, it's like all of the sudden I have different company," she admits to him, the few hours that the boy has been close to her making a presence in her inner dialogue. "It's a voice that speaks my same language."

"That might come in handy." The freight elevator comes to a stop and they both reach to open the solid gates. "Just let us in on your conversations; I'm sure we'll get the jokes." He winks at her as they exit, keeping it light, and she appreciates the humor.

"The SUV is ready to go," Allyson announces to Mulder and Monica as they reach the mess room.

"Do we still have room for them?" he asks, nodding in the direction of their captives but still engrossed in his iPad.

"Yeah, though I hope they don't mind the lack of soft cushions," she says, sitting on top of the metal table and taking the cup of hot coffee that Monica hands to her. "We had to take out the seats."

"I'm sure they've had worse accommodations," Monica comments, sipping from her own cup.

"He's a writer," Mulder informs them, lifting his eyes from his tablet, "and she's his muse."

Allyson takes the iPad from Mulder and scrolls through the website, interested.

"Richard E. Castle. Bestselling author, millionaire," she takes off her hat and adjusts her messy tresses, that fall forward framing her features. "Prolific in his work he's been shadowing NYPD detective Katherine Beckett; his inspiration for the crime drama book series about an attractive female detective…" She stops, stifling a laugh. "What kind of name is Nikki Heat?"

Mulder rolls his eyes at her in amusement. "I don't question the man's imagination."

"And they're a 'thing', right?" It's more a statement than a question.

"I don't know about you guys but I think its romantic," Monica chimes in, tilting her head to the side and smiling to her husband who shakes his head at her. Allyson turns to her with a mischievous smirk.

Monica's imagery is pretty bold. Her thoughts are a combination that ranges from picturing their hostages in a collage of heated kisses to passionate encounters in alleys and patrol cars; all spiced with the writer's loving narration of their desire for one another until their faces morph into her and John's, a mix of reality and fantasy that almost makes her blush.

Allyson has learned to recognize these mental spaces that she often sees in their memories; she doesn't ask, well… not that much. She knows that they were particularly fond of the white counters in the basement office and Monica's bathtub. It's more than she needs to know, she thinks with a grimace as Monica's thoughts turn to an even more risqué scenario.

"That's not _exactly_ what you're thinking," she corrects the woman, narrowing her eyes at her and halting her thoughts. She loves Monica's pervy mind.

"I'm not even gonna pretend," she snickers throwing her hands in the air, sharing a knowing moment with her and Allyson shakes her head.

"How much longer?" she asks, impatient, returning her attention to Mulder. A loud knock comes from the direction of their improvised cell.

"I guess not much," Mulder responds. "Bring them out." She sobers up as she throws him a look and hands him back the tablet; she checks on him and he nods, reassuring her.

She can't help it, she worries about everything and nothing, and sometimes she wonders if it will ever change.

Allyson climbs off the table and unzips her jacket as she approaches the cell, draws her hand to her gun, alert as she unlocks the bolt of the door and opens it.

The woman in front of her stands her ground, tough, but she can sense her nerves, as much as she's trying to hide them. The man is right behind her, observant, trying to seem secure even though Allyson can hear the chant of pleas he has going on in his head.

"No ties?" she asks in Mulder's direction.

"No need." Allyson follows her boss's lead, takes a deep breath and motions them towards their huddle. The group stands on attention as their captives approach and she keeps guard behind. You can never be too safe.

"Have we reached an agreement?" Mulder asks.

"We have a few more conditions," the detective informs them, a stern look on her face.

"We're all ears," Mulder says, leaning against the table.

"If we go with your plan and I go back to my precinct, I'd still have to explain why Castle is not with me, why I don't have William with me," the woman explains, feet firm on the ground while her partner carefully studies them. Allyson can easily see that he's cataloging them. The woman's voice speaks of authority, not waiving in this negotiation. "I still need to catch my killers. I need a better guarantee."

"We're not handing back the child if that's what you're getting at," John says, cutting her off. Allyson trades a look with him, trying to connect with him. 'Let her finish', she thinks.

"No, but you're handing me the killers," the detective requests, and the group trades a glance between themselves. "If they're after you, if they're so relentless, it won't be long until they find you."

"So you want to use us as bait?" Allyson asks, reading into the woman's plans, her question making Beckett turn to her and give her a silent nod, her eyes seizing her.

"That's quite the risk," Mulder assesses.

"We're talking about exposure here…" Monica adds.

"It's either that or you don't get the drawings," Beckett warns. The woman's set on it and she won't budge. "And Mulder comes with us. That way we'll make sure that you live up to your word."

Allyson focuses on the writer, trying to read his reaction and she shakes her head at his own inner dialogue; he's taken by this woman alright, she can hear him cheering her on as if his partner could hear him too, his thoughts laced with a thick layer of awe.

"How do we know that you're not going to turn us in?" John asks, still wary and protective. "You need to explain your disappearance after all."

"She won't," Mulder responds to their partner's query, "because… she believes me. Because she knows that our escape depends on me as well."

He turns to Doggett who looks as if he needs a clue. "They don't know that we exist; they're hunting whoever killed Jane and George and wanted to get to William. That's what will matter to the NYPD. For all they know, the others, not us, intercepted our guests right here. It will be up to us to lead them to the shooters…"

"Or you'll be spending the rest of your life in Rikers… maybe worse." Castle completes the statement and everyone turns to him, his voice sealing the gravity of their plan.

Mulder trades glances with his partners and she can sense his hesitation; he's not masking his thoughts from her, he can't, he knows better than that. She's overwhelmed as the fears of everyone crowd in on her own, making for an intense chatter that makes it hard to focus.

"I don't see that we have any other choice."

Allyson's head snaps up at the voice that comes from her right and her eyes focus on the petite red head coming into the room and raising everyone's attention, halting the noise.

The writer and the detective startle at the new presence in the room, instinctively taking a step back as she approaches Mulder's side.

"Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle… meet Dana Scully."

* * *

**A/N:**

**I'm so excited to write what's coming, I can barely hold it in. It might take a couple more days than the pace I've been updating because, well, real life is going to get in the way.  
**

**Seriously thankful of all of you that are reading and continue to spread the word, big love to DancingDragon42, you rock girl, thank you for giving me the prompt for this. Go read all of her stories!  
**

**The biggest heart as always goes to my partner in crime, KyInHI, because she's an specialist reading Venezuelan English and putting up with my marathon #21st!  
**

**P.S. - Joss, you're going to have to wait for those Super Soldiers!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

_"I don't see that we have any other choice."_

_"Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle… meet Dana Scully."_

* * *

Silence has taken over the room, as if every member of the team is waiting for the woman's next words.

Kate can feel her scrutiny; Scully's penetrating, blue eyes studying her, holding her gaze. Beckett can easily see that this woman is a force to be reckoned with; her posture screams power and defiance, a true contrast with her short stature and the soft, classic features of her face.

Kate follows her gaze as Scully's attention drifts to Castle; her eyes analyze him just as meticulously and Castle shifts on his feet. The new presence in the room took him by surprise as well, but he's studying her right back, collecting details that she can already imagine will make their way into a book.

He'd write lines upon lines about how her blazing red hair frames her pale, smooth skin, the spray of freckles and distinguished nose, the small mole above her mouth that purses as if it was stung by a bee.

The woman must be pushing forty but the age doesn't really show on her. Her attire speaks of comfort but doesn't hide her figure; a dark turtleneck that clings to her athletic torso, accentuate without being showy. She's slim, but strong, like her posture. She must be only around the 5'3", Beckett guesses, but she's sporting a pair of weathered, high-heeled, knee-high boots over her dark wash jeans; it diminishes the height difference between her and Mulder, somewhat, and though he still towers over her, it's plain to see the respect that Scully demands. Kate's eyes travel to the thigh holster, it cradles a Beretta M9; a reliable and effective pistol, just like her own Glock 17. A no nonsense firearm, she notes; the woman must have serious training..

She can't help but find things in common with her, she does this every time she runs into a figure like this woman; she wonders if Castle is doing the same.

"All good?" Mulder asks Scully, and she sees him place a careful hand on the small of the woman's back, drawing her attention back to him. Her eyes transform immediately, softer, caring, so many feelings transmitted in just one glance, and Kate wonders if this is what others see when she looks at Castle.

"Yeah, he finally went down," Scully informs.

They must be referring to William, Beckett thinks.

"But I doubt that he'll be asleep for long, he's too excited." She gives him a tightlipped smile, a tinge of amusement in her words.

Kate can't help but worry about the boy. With everything that he must have experienced in his short but crazy life, these 'fantastic' ideas could sway him to people that humor his so-called 'mission', people that could very well lead him into even more danger. She can't fight the plethora of contradictions that are running through her head; there's just too many to make any logical sense. It throws her off balance, especially when she's about to challenge every conscious fiber in her being to go forward with her plan.

"I don't blame him." Mulder responds with a lukewarm smile, his eyes seem to look for reassurance and the woman responds to it, her shoulders relaxing just the slightest. He doesn't linger much longer and clears his throat, his eyes traveling back to Beckett.

"I should introduce you to the rest of us," Mulder proposes in a conciliatory manner. He points at the tall woman behind him. "This is Monica Reyes; she also used to be FBI, like Scully and I." She regards them with a small nod and crosses her arms loosely over her chest. Kate meets her eyes and the woman responds with a half grimace, darting her eyes to the ground.

"John Doggett," Mulder continues, introducing the rugged man, "also former FBI, former Marine, and a former colleague of yours; he used to be NYPD." Beckett directs her attention to her right. John gives them a half salute with his hand.

"That sounds like ancient history…" John comments, his tone bitter sweet.

"And… behind you," Mulder continues, "Allyson Phoenix."

Kate turns on her feet to look at the young woman; she's examining her and she can't help but feel a bit intimidated by her deep gaze.

"No FBI, no police… just… your average kickass renegade." The girl grins cheekily; Kate can't help but to like her. Allyson shifts her eyes to Mulder and shakes her head in amusement.

"So… Detective Beckett," Scully addresses her, the tone of her voice returning to her previous business tenor. "I trust that you know already what's at stake here… this plan of yours has to be bullet proof."

She doesn't need to be reminded of it, not at all. She's risking everything that she's worked so hard for, her job, her reputation, her life and… Castle's. She's trying to keep her nerves at bay but a small mistake could make this whole situation turn for the worst.

Beckett has to find a way to push all her doubts away. She needs to bring her A-game, trust that the nagging questions that poke at her will eventually be answered.

Kate knows that she's forcing herself into new territory. Normally, she'd be the first one to avoid this. But if these past years have taught her anything, it is that her world has become a shifting matter. Every belief she held close, every truth, every notion of justice has become a grey zone that has had to adapt to new knowledge, new politics… it's as if she's opening her eyes to a new level of awareness that had previously been hidden from her.

She holds her hand to her chest, fidgeting with a button of her jacket; her fingers close to where a small scar had marked her existence, a turning point in her life. It made her question everything; her past, present and future. After the pain had subsided, it had grounded her, served as a reminder of all she had fought to overcome.

Now, the string of events that surround the absence of that reminder have turned her world upside down, again.

"I'll deliver our part of the deal, you worry about yours." Beckett assures the woman.

"Well that's exactly the problem," Monica interjects. Kate can tell that the woman is not at ease with the proposed plan. "We've spent all this time hiding, and getting good at it. How do we work in reverse without risking our lives?"

"Becoming the hunter instead of the target," Mulder says, and his voice holds hesitation that she senses he's trying to keep down.

"Easier said than done." Doggett's words match Monica's in weariness as he scratches the thick stubble on his face. "That's too much of a risk, man."

"You know that there's a way…" Allyson says to him, and Kate can sense that there's a debate that has been had in the past about this topic.

"No, Ally… No, you can't," John cuts her off, protectively.

Beckett is immediately curious about what's not being said but she fights off her detective instincts, giving priority to her common sense. It's better not to get more involved in their quest; no more than they already are.

"John, we'll figure out our end of the deal between us," Scully intervenes, eyeing both of them. "In the meantime, I need to know the play-by-play of their plan."

Beckett takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and finding the best way to explain them to the woman.

"It's not simple, nor the best plan," she begins, making eye contact with all of them. "I'd be putting not only the life of my partner in danger but also my integrity… However, it's the best I can come up with right now."

She takes a pause to seize them, but also buying herself a couple of seconds to run the steps in her head.

"Go on," Mulder encourages.

"You're former FBI. You'll know how to play the part," she continues, addressing Mulder. "We'll come back to my precinct and present you. The story would be that you'd been following the shooters, intercepted them as they caught us, but were only able to get to me, leaving William and Castle behind."

"Won't they verify his credentials?" Monica asks.

"Leave that up to me," Allyson assures, dismissing her question with ease.

"While we are there," Beckett continues, dismissing her own questions about how they'd be able to manage to forge Mulder's identity, "we'll both be able to get a hold of the drawings. You can copy…"

"We need the originals," Mulder interrupts her.

"Why the originals?" She's curious.

"It's not just about what they say… copies won't work," he affirms, trading glances with Scully. More of this mystery is yet to unfold and she wonders if she'll be able to suppress her need to know the truth behind all of it.

"We'll figure out a way, then…" she concedes, putting off figuring out this part of the plan until the moment they have to face it.

"They'll want to mobilize to rescue your partner and William, to know if you have any clues…" Reyes remarks, pointing at the sensitive parts of Beckett's plan.

"I won't have any, but he will," she responds, pointing at the importance of Mulder's presence in her scheme. "We'll have to come up with a story for them, that gives them some clues but not too many. Only feed them enough details to keep them feeling like they are moving forward, and only if necessary."

"With Mulder acting as part of the investigation, it will be easier to not raise suspicions when you deliver your part of the deal," Kate explains, and Mulder nods in understanding, following along with the plan so far. Beckett pauses; she needs to be sincere about her own hesitations when it comes to involving this so-called 3rd party.

"If this group is as dangerous as you claim," she says, her voice laced with a slight smear of dread. She looks at Castle; she knows he also fears the same thing. "I don't want to put my people in any unnecessary danger, I don't want to make them a part of this operation."

Doggett and Reyes trade looks; she can see that they're as nervous as she is. If she has a laundry list of threats that she fears, she can't help but wonder how long theirs is.

"The plan will have to adjust once we face them, once we know how far along in the investigation they are," she considers; she knows that by now they must have been exploring every lead, every clue that they could have found in the original crime scene and her cruiser. "…And I will have to figure how much we can deceive them."

This last part makes her nauseous. She doesn't want to do this to her own team but her choices look slim. She can't be sure that they would understand, that they wouldn't try to talk her out of this.

It wouldn't be the first time that she's kept them out of the loop when it came to solving a case, but this time she would be lying instead of withholding information. It's completely different when she's had to do it for the sake of national security or some other bureaucratic rule; when she's been ordered by another sanctioned agency, the guilt somehow watered down when caused by a superior and not because she's purposely being dishonest.

They probably won't know that she's lying, at least not right away, but she'll be aware of it, all the time, for the rest of her life.

And she has a reason to feel leery about this deceit. Even collaborating with the CIA, they had been dragged into a plan that had them cooperating with dangerous criminals in the past. They'd been so close to not being able to turn that situation around, so close to aiding in the assassination of an innocent little girl, of triggering a domino effect that would have unparalleled consequences. She can't ever forget about Sophia Turner.

She pushes the thoughts away; she's learned from that situation, she knows the red flags now… and she'll be ready to spot them. They will now play by her rules.

"I'll still abide by your condition of leaving my partner behind." Kate continues, trading looks with Castle and trying to push down the involuntary stutter in her voice. "I don't know the scope of abilities you have to forge Mulder's identity without raising suspicions, hence, I can't foresee if we'll be able to operate without NYPD's reigning jurisdiction over the case, but we will definitely be part of the operation regardless of any limitations we may run into."

Mulder and Scully nod in understanding to the limits of the plan, and Beckett wonders as well how many other variables they're going to have to face.

"You have to find us a sure fire way to hand the shooters to the NYPD," she says, adding the final steps of the setup, "where you'd be able to release Castle in the vicinity making it seem that he's been held by them this whole time."

"When all the pieces are confirmed, Mulder can walk away with the drawings." she says, completing her sketch of a plan, waiting for them to consider their options.

"I say that's a plan that has a lot of loose ends… but nothing we try to do will be any more solid," Allyson considers, and John rolls his eyes at her. "I can come up with a new identity for you," she offers to Mulder, calculating her tasks. "We don't want any of your previous fame bringing any more attention to us."

"If we're going to fake an FBI operation, why can't we all join in, take over jurisdiction and get this over with?" John asks, impatient.

"Because chances are someone would recognize you and me," Monica says, her voice grim and eyes deep, connecting with him, pointing at the flaw in that plan. "You and I were very involved with the NYPD with your son's case…"

'More details, more back story,' Kate thinks as she wonders what happened to Doggett's son. The man's face has turned sullen and intense.

"Let's play it by ear," Scully suggests, trying to regroup. "We will still have to explain the fact that the shooters won't have William in their possession."

"That's easy," Castle assures, drawing the attention of the room, "but I'd rather wait until we know the state of things on the other end to act on it."

Kate looks at him, curious; he must be doing his own math, stretching his own plotting abilities. And then it hits her, he won't be there to be her partner in crime. She's going to have to learn how to trust this other man, a man that's threatening every possibility of going back to their previous reality.

Mulder looks around him and the members of his team seem to confirm their silent yet reserved agreement to this plan.

"One last thing," Beckett says, carefully. "Before we go and start any of these actions, I need to speak to William. I need to make sure that he's alright."

Scully's head snaps up at her, an inquiring and perfectly manicured eyebrow rising on her forehead.

"Now, why would you suppose that I'm going to let you do that?"

Beckett braces at the woman's defiant tone, she has to admit that her negotiation skills are being compromised by her fears. But she cannot let that become her weakness; she has to make it her strength.

"Because I've been functioning on trust here," she responds to the woman. Their stances mirror each other; hands on hips, backs straight, their expressions challenging each other's ground.

"This entire plan has been based on blind belief that this crazy situation you and your people have brought us into is true, Beckett continues, pointing out the unlikely character of the facts that set this whole thing in motion. "I need to ensure his wellbeing, I need to make sure he's okay with you."

"You don't get to put conditions on over William," Scully responds, aggravation and incredulity growing in her voice. But Kate stands strong, she won't back down, this is not negotiable.

"How do I know that you're really his mother?" she responds, and she knows that she's probing into a sensitive matter. Mulder looks at her and she wonders if he's regretting sharing their entire story with them. Scully regards him with a look that grows angrier by the minute, distancing herself from the man. "If any of this story is true," Beckett continues, "and you once gave him away fearing his own safety, how do I know he's not better off without you?"

This last question sets the woman before her in a spin, barely able to control her anger when Beckett questions their intentions.

On the one hand, she needs to challenge her like this, dig until she relieves her of the controlled posture that she's held onto until now. Only then will she'll be able to spot Scully's weaknesses.

On the other… she's kicking herself over having to poise these questions and assumptions onto what seems to be a fiercely loving mother.

She knows this might seem like a low blow; she knows it hurts to have your child used against you even though she's not a parent. She's criticized these antics before, but right now the one thing she has to protect is this child. She needs to cover every angle and not get distracted by the whole complexity of the goals that need to be achieved.

"You have no right to tell me what's best for my son!" Scully says through gritted teeth, walking up to her. The woman has no hesitation to get in her face, and Kate feels her own interrogation techniques being used against her.

"You think that this was the preferred option? You think that letting go of the most important thing in our lives was an easy decision?" she continues, questioning Beckett's argument. The former FBI agent is not at all intimidated by the height of the woman before her and her intense eyes almost make Kate feel like she doesn't have the physical upper hand anymore. "You don't have the slightest idea of the sacrifice this meant for us."

Beckett doesn't respond as Scully still stands in a staring match with her. The woman's breath comes out ragged and her brow is crinkled in concentration, expecting a response from her counterpart.

The room grows silent; the weight of the argument hangs in the air.

"We are aware," Castle responds, his voice almost soothing, as he closes the distance between himself and Kate protectively. Leave it up to him to try to be conciliatory, she thinks. But he would also understand this situation on another level; his own fatherly sensitivities must be kicking in. "Detective Beckett is just trying to do her job, it would be irresponsible of her otherwise."

Beckett feels some of the tension subside at Castle's intervention in their conversation but Scully doesn't waiver, she's now directing the same angry stare at him. Scully can yell and complain all she wants, but this is the truth; she can't just look the other way when it comes to the life of an innocent.

Mulder clears his throat, breaking the silence and drawing Scully's attention to him. She turns, hesitant, and he points to William who's standing at the threshold of the door, preparing to come into the room.

"It's Okay, Mom. I want to talk to Kate, too."

* * *

**A/N:**

**So this one took longer than I expected, with the holidays and all and well, as I'd warned, real life. Why can't we all live just by writing and that's it!?**

**I've also procrastinated on my other fics, I should continue those as well! **

**As always, my undying love to all of you that review and spread the word. I know that finding this fic is hard because of the categories here at FFN, so everytime I get a new reader I know it is because you are really interested! **

**Big hugs to my girl Ky! You rock my socks everytime. The next one will be filled of her requests, this one had a few of them.**

**Please leave me your REVIEWS, as they are the best payment for this labor of love ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**I know this is a longer one. But I took longer than expected to finish this one, real life and all.**

* * *

"It's Okay, Mom. I want to talk to Kate, too," William says, his voice calm and small; Scully's expression changes immediately.

Beckett can see that the redhead didn't want the boy to be a part of these conversations and regret fills her face, obscuring her features.

"Honey, I'm sorry, did we wake you up?" Scully says lovingly, approaching the boy and carding her fingers through his hair. The boy leans into her touch and the gesture makes Kate feel even worse about their previous exchange. She knows that she hit many sensitive spots; she knows that she dug into wounds that seem to be open and still bleeding.

"I wasn't really sleeping, I wanted to draw," he responds, dismissing Scully's concern and trying to make his way to the group.

Kate can feel Castle's presence next to her and its reassuring. She's starting to feel chagrinned, the short exchange between Scully and William conveying to her a depth of emotion she wasn't until then sure about.

"It's really late, why don't you…" Scully tries to stop him from walking further into the group, but he turns to her, and Kate cannot help but admire this kid's demeanor; he's so calmed and collected, so sure of himself.

"It's okay. I need to talk to Kate," he says, reassuring the woman and directing his attention to the detective. There's something about this kid's eyes that dig into her soul, into her thoughts; it puts her on edge. Every piece of her is awakened in some sort of awareness that she hasn't felt before. The room is silent, broken only by a few dulled echoes of water dripping somewhere off in the distance and the rustling of clothes as the inhabitants shift from foot to foot. No one wants to speak to this kid, no one dares.

Kate cannot help but feel a bit uneasy about what the boy might want to tell her. What if he's truly scared of them and this is just an act to try and get away? If that's the situation, then her current plan won't be able to remedy that. She should have demanded to speak to him before proposing anything, she thinks, berating herself. She should have been smarter.

"William, honey, we're having an adult conversation." Scully tries to persuade the boy from getting exposed to any more of this. "Why don't you go back to bed and we'll come and get you when we're done?" But he won't have it; he's resolute in his intentions.

"But... Kate needs to talk to me, right?"

William makes eye contact with Beckett and she tries to remain neutral, to not bring any unnecessary anxiety to the boy, but there's no need to cover her feelings. She knows that this boy can read her. However it happens, whatever faculty he possesses, she knows that she's exposed to him.

"She's just scared… like all of them," William says to Scully, his voice just above a whisper.

The mood of the group has changed since he entered the room. Doggett and Reyes stand back, letting Scully take command of the negotiation, and Mulder seems unfazed, as if this is what it was to be expected.

Any other parent would enforce discipline, but not them. Then again, what kind of authority do they have over him? If they are indeed his parents, the reunion is recent and they have no real claim to William's trust. Right now, the situation plays as if they're talking to an equal, to someone that has an equal capacity to assimilate to this situation.

Scully turns to Beckett and Castle and seems to evaluate the situation, her gaze flitting between them, her lips pursed thoughtfully. The boy is set on having this conversation with the detective and Kate can see Scully's reluctance to go against the boy's wishes in a sterner manner. She checks with Mulder, who seems to agree with the approach that she's taken, and by their eye exchange Kate can see that these two have a very solid silent communication between them. There's no need for words; it's something that only comes from knowing the other thoroughly.

"Alright, young man... let's make a deal," Scully says, turning to William and adjusting his jacket. "Detective Beckett, Allyson, and I will come and tuck you in. You can talk while we're at it. How does that sound?"

Beckett instantly wonders, why the sudden addition of the young woman to the proposed scenario? Maybe it's just the need to have the upper hand; a feminine presence instead of an intimidating male one, Kate rationalizes… Someone else in the room, just in case she tries anything.

"Deal." The boy nods eagerly in agreement and holds Scully's hand. She straightens up and turns to Allyson, nodding at her in more of this silent communication.

The girl approaches Kate and starts ushering her to the room; Kate follows, her heels clacking against the concrete floor in an obscene disruption of the quietness of the space. She throws a last glace at Castle, regretting the fact that they will be apart for this.

Even though she intends this conversation to be a brief one, she can't help it when her heart pounds faster, as her nerves threaten to take over and flood her with irrational fear.

But Castle can read her as well, and with a nod and the intense yet serene look of his eyes, he lets her know that he's alright, that she's got this; to go on and do what needs to be done. He's got her back. Always.

Kate feels William's hand hold onto hers, so small in comparison to her own. It snaps her back to the moment, his big blue eyes warmly searching hers.

"Come on," he says, tugging her towards him, excitement shining in his eyes. "We have to finish our talk… and, I have important things to say."

Both women follow his lead into the room, walking side by side as William drags them by the hand, and Kate takes a moment to study the redhead. She looks at the petite woman, her profile perfect, as if chiseled in white marble. She keeps her gaze straight ahead thoughthough; not letting Kate read into her eyes or discern her feelings about the situation. For the briefest of moments she sees the blue pools throw her a look out of the corner of her eye, but then it's gone.

Scully reaches for the door, letting them in and William lets go of their hands and rushes to the cot that's placed by the far wall of the room. He jumps on top of the blankets and sleeping bags that lay crumpled on the mattress.

The space is not much different than the makeshift cell that she and Castle were just locked into, the same dim light and musty odor, but William doesn't seem to mind. Kate stops in the middle of the room as Scully approaches the boy, and she hears the metal click of the lock snapping softly into place behind her. She turns her attention to the sound and is met by Allyson's intense eyes. The girl seems to be studying her as she leans onto the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and surveying the scene.

Yeah, this woman is here for a reason.

* * *

"Are you warm enough?" Scully asks William, her motherly instincts on the surface as she covers the boy with the sleeping bag, trying to make him comfortable as he lies down on the small cot. She caresses his face, pushing his bangs off his forehead and tapping on the freckles that pepper his face.

"Yes, toasty," he responds with a half giggle, luxuriating in her gaze; it makes her heart skip a beat. She's been craving this so much; stroking her son's dewy skin, hearing his laugh and looking into his eyes… the very same shade of blue that she had to walk away from so many years ago.

She's not going to relive those moments, not right now; she can't allow herself a minute of that. Scully knows the importance of this particular situation. They're so close. If they play their cards right they will be able to escape, they will be able to continue running together. She gathers the drawing supplies that lay scattered on top of the covers, the sketchpad filled with more signs. He's been hard at work.

"Can Kate sit with me?" he requests, and Scully has to push down the surge of territorial feelings that rise within her. He looks at her deeply, and she tries to mask her eyes away. She knows that there's no point to it though, knows that he can read her feelings, and that's something that she needs to learn how to navigate.

"Sure." Scully looks at the tall woman standing awkwardly in the room; she's fidgeting, bouncing on her heels. "But like we agreed, William; short talk, then sleep." She gets up from the cot, grabs William's drawings and makes room for Kate to take her place.

Beckett sits gingerly by the boy's side. The woman seems to be holding a breath and Scully wonders what it is that they need to talk about. She wonders why he is feeling so at ease with someone that he has just met. Even she hasn't had enough time to rekindle the relationship with her son; not in the precious few moments that they have spent together in the last couple hours.

"She's good; you don't have to be afraid," William says, reassuringly, and Scully doesn't quite know if he's referring to her or the woman by his side.

"Are you okay?" William asks, this time looking directly at the detective.

"I should be the one asking you that," Kate responds, a warm but nervous smile on her face.

"Everything will be alright, we're almost there," William says. His voice sounds so calm and wise; Scully can't help but feel that her son is just trying to ease the tension that he knows is haunting everyone in the room.

"I just want to make sure that you feel safe," Beckett says, gently. Scully knows that she was once in this position; with another boy, with similar abilities. Gibson Praise wasn't her son but she had felt the same need to protect him, to make sure that she could guard his life even though she didn't fully understand the boy's faculties; even when she had felt naked in his presence, just like she feels right now.

This time is different though. If there was ever a moment to make things right, this is it. This is their only chance to follow the path that they had abandoned and that now has come back to claim their lives; to push them to do what's right, what's needed. Their lives are important, but much bigger is the mission that they have to complete. They are the most important piece of this game, even though the rest of the humanity is oblivious to it.

"I am safe. I'm supposed to be with them. She's my real mom, you know?" he says, holding her hand. "You need to help them. We need you. You know I'm telling you the truth, and so are they."

The detective doesn't respond, and Scully imagines that she's still battling with her options and the decision to go with the plan that they've agreed to follow. She's trying hard to put herself in this woman's shoes, even when her primal response has her wanting to inflict some sizeable harm on the woman. 'You would have done the same,' Scully thinks, trying to convince herself, but it's hard when the last few years have convinced her that Mulder was right on this one. Trust no one.

Beckett takes a deep breath and William reaches for her, softly touching her cheek; he's such a sweet boy, he should be living a different life. Scully wonders what he's seeing in this woman that he trusts her so implicitly. For a moment she envies that she cannot be this innocent, or be more impartial so as to analyze this situation.

Long ago are the times when conspiracies and painful memories didn't fill her mind and her heart; times when the harshest things she had seen only belonged in the sick annals of human nature, and not some kind of universal plot to see the demise of their kind.

She doesn't quite remember the feeling anymore, to shed the day with a warm bath and a good book. Now, all she can sense is the overwhelming weight on her shoulders, the drive to keep pushing forward. They're here to finally put an end to the Machiavelic scheme that took over their lives.

She checks the sketchpad, William has made at least four new drawings. She recognizes some of the symbols, but they seem so different in her son's clumsy calligraphy. She makes a mental note to not disturb the order they're in. Everything needs to go perfectly.

She returns her attention to the cot and she sees her son place his hand chastely on the detective's chest, above her heart, and Scully wonders when he learned to feel this empathy for others. How did he make peace with things he was too little to understand? His innocence had been robbed as well.

"You know it will be alright. Don't you?" He winks at the woman and she lets out a shuddery breath, smiling at him and nodding. Scully is curious about the exchange between them; there's something more that's not being said and she turns to look at Ally who's picked up on it as well.

The girl is staring intently at the pair, with a Cheshire smile on her lips. She must feel Scully's stare on her because she turns to her hiding an amused smirk. Scully needs to know and mouths a furtive 'what' to her, but Ally dismisses her, demurely shaking a hand at her.

"I need my drawings. We need to find the place," William continues, burying further into the bed and making himself more comfortable. "Without them we won't be ready."

"William, what is this place you speak of?" The detective sounds genuinely curious and Scully can't blame her. The woman's features seem softer in the dim light, not so defiant. If only it were so easy to explain. They don't even know what this place actually is, or where it is located.

"When I close my eyes I see it," he begins to explain, slowly closing his eyes to demonstrate. There is almost a dreamlike sound to his voice. Maybe it's the images of this place that fill his mind; or maybe he's just tired and the fatigue is getting the best of him, Scully thinks. "It's safe, and we should get there soon. They're waiting for us," William says between yawns.

"Who's 'they'?" Beckett asks, her curiosity growing, but her voice still a soothing tenor.

"The fighters, the ones like us; the silent warriors," William explains, as if this is the most normal thing to say to a person.

Sometimes Scully still wonders how this makes sense, and she takes pity on this woman at last.

"I know your plan, its good, and you will be okay. Don't be afraid." William's voice drifts, tiredness finally creeping up on him.

Scully starts her way to the bed and checks on Ally to signal that the conversation needs to end. The girl wears an expression of wonder on her face, almost surprised and Scully doesn't understand.

"What?" Scully asks Ally, just above a whisper and the girl takes her aside.

"We're gonna be fine," Ally whispers in her ear, a tinge of amazed amusement in her voice. "She knows."

Scully meets her eyes, 'what do you mean?' she thinks, but the girl doesn't clarify, barely able to hold in the excited smile that she's sporting.

"Trust me," Ally mouths at her. Scully raises an eyebrow at her in brief agreement and turns to the cot.

"I think this is enough… he needs to rest." Her voice is calmer this time when she addresses the detective.

"Yeah," Beckett agrees, slowly getting up from the bed and holding William's hand in reassurance. "I'll be back soon; I'll bring your drawings. Just be safe, okay?"

"I am, I will," he responds, almost out cold, serene, drifting out to sleep.

* * *

Castle has moved to sit at the table, tired of pacing in the same spot. Everyone is still on the edge but occupying themselves with menial tasks around him, and he senses this is their own way to placate their nerves.

The space has gotten colder, and he predicts that they should be nearing the hours just before dawn, when the temperature drops before the sun comes up. He wonders if the guys at the precinct are looking for them; have they warned their families? They learned their lesson after the last time they went through this situation, he hopes the boys realize this and haven't written off their disappearance as simply taking off work early. He mentally scoffs at himself; they have been kidnapped and on the run, alright, but he's sure that he never actually thought that he'd be adding "Fighting Aliens" to the plethora of situations that they've found themselves in.

The women have been in the room for some time. He's so used to being able to listen into every interrogation, to see Beckett gather precious information that would break a case, but this situation is so different. They're forced to work blindly.

He knows that she's battling her own nerves… and the unbelievable things that have happened today. He's still trying to make sense of it all.

He wouldn't be surprised if a few minutes from now this all happens to be a dream; to find himself waking up next to her, a tangle of legs and warm sheets, her breath coming in soft puffs and caressing his chest as she snuggles next to him in the early morning light.

He doesn't remember falling asleep though.

Monica has been packing and repacking an assortment of supplies that had been resting on the metal shelves by the far wall. There have been hushed exchanges between her and Doggett. The man has been standing by her, feigning patience while handing her items to pack into a couple of coolers. The rustling of their clothes as they continue in their methodic routine is almost hypnotic.

Castle can tell by his posture that John's having trouble staying put; crossing his arms at different heights over his chest, tucking his hands into his pockets, moving them to his face to absentmindedly scratch at his skin. It's funny, but he reminds him of Beckett. He seems to be a sstraight-laced, authority figure, with not an ounce of patience for nonsense.

Mulder offers Castle a cup of coffee and he takes the steamy cup from the man, his hands immediately feeling the comfort of the warmth radiating from it.

"So you're a writer…" he says, settling across from him.

"Yeah," Castle responds, taking a sip of the warm beverage. It isn't too bad; he was totally expecting some version of gas station coffee, bitter and hard to swallow. He wills the caffeine to wake him up; he's beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. They had come into the precinct early that morning, Kate wanting to get a head start and try to finish prepping for the trial of the Mickey Dolan case. They were almost done, planning for a night in, curled on her couch with wine and a movie, when they got the call for tonight's shooting.

"I've done some writing myself," Mulder informs him with a shy smile, snapping him out of his trance.

"Anything I might have read?" He's genuinely interested; there are more layers to this man and Castle wants to learn them all. Follow the story, understand it all.

"Hmm… I don't know," Mulder responds. The following statement comes with a small bit of sarcasm. "Probably not… unless you subscribe to end of the world journals or conspiracy theory magazines."

Doggett lets out a scoff, shaking his head in amusement and that earns him a playful slap from the woman beside him. Mulder doesn't take himself too seriously it seems, not by the smirk on his face.

"Well…" Castle tries to be polite.

"Don't worry about it, I know it's not everyone's cup of tea," Mulder dismisses him, easing the awkwardness that he must be reading on his face. He should work on that; he's supposed to be good at poker.

"What's your nom de plume?" Castle asks.

"M.F. Luder," Mulder responds, and there's a wince at his admittance. Even Castle can recognize that the anagram is not the most imaginative of word plays. But the name sounds familiar, and his mind instantly scans the loads of information stored in his head for no particular reason other than occupying precious space. He's heard this name before, he's sure of it.

"It's okay, I wouldn't blame you if you haven't," Mulder says, trying to prevent him from forcing interest in his works. But then Castle remembers.

"The Arecibo telescope," he says, the image of that dog-eared magazine popping in his head. "You wrote something about that, right?"

He had found it in one of the periodical publications shelves at the Library after he had heard of it in one of the conspiracy websites he browsed from time to time. The outlandish statements about government involvement in a planned alien invasion and their communication with these beings had made him scoff at times, but he had been enthralled by the fervor that the author had when making such statements. There was conviction behind every detail and proclamation.

"Wow, that's an old one," Mulder replies, surprised. "Yeah, that was some interesting research." He leans back on the chair, crossing his arms on his chest and propping his feet on the table. Castle can't tell if the expression on the man's face is smugness or his own way to make fun of himself.

He wonders what kind of experiences this man has been through to write such things. He remembered the article talking about how he had been chased out of the complex, his life on the line, and how the government had covered up a string of abductions that were closely tied to the WOW signal. If any of this is true, he had been inadvertently aware of this man's quest well before ending up involved in it himself.

"Yeah, I was toying with an idea I had for one of my 'Storm' novels," Castle explains, the memories of the research a blur, reminding him of many arguments with the editors at Black Pawn. "I was going to title it 'A Tropical Storm'." He still finds the name appealing.

"Did you ever write about it?" Mulder asks, curious.

"There were already too many affiliations to UFO lore that I couldn't avoid at the time."

The nineties was a decade plagued with so many of these references, the threat of the new millennium making it easy for the paranoia to be the natural state of mind. And while this was one of the things that favored the success of the hero in his novels, he would never have given the light of day to these kinds of topics. Even when Derrick's nature was to suspect every branch of the government, the operative's grudge rested a lot more on a different quest. "It wouldn't have matched my character. Derrick Storm is not exactly what one could qualify as a _believer_."

"No one ever qualifies as a believer," Doggett intervenes, an eyebrow raised with his comment and Castle wonders how much did this man fight this reality that they've found themselves in.

"I'd like to think that I'm open minded," Castle replies. And he truly believes that of himself. He's the one always pushing Beckett to think outside the box, beyond the rational limits that her experience corners her into sometimes. She might laugh at his quips and be annoyed at his incessant need to pin everything on spies, the mob and the CIA, but the truth is that his instincts are never_ that_ far off. He doesn't let her know that he's keeping score of how many times he's been right in some way. She wouldn't like that. She's already annoyed by the fact that he's beating her in how many times he's saved her life.

"Well, you're gonna need a lot of that if you're sticking around us for a while," Reyes responds with a smile. But in reality, it feels like a warning. He wonders if he could have finally found the limit to the flexibility of his own theories.

The sound of a door opening draws their attention, and the sight of Kate walking out of the room unharmed makes him release a breath he didn't know he was holding. She makes a beeline straight toward him as he stands up from his seat.

"You alright?" He asks, searching her eyes. They're tired, but still so beautiful.

"Yeah," she whispers and grabs his hand. Their twined fingers tell him that her sudden need for contact matches his own. She's worried, but he's seen this face; she's also determined.

* * *

Allyson can't contain her smile while she follows Beckett and Scully out of the room. 'This is just… so… _wow_' she blabbers in her thoughts, not even able to formulate a sound opinion of it in her mind. She shakes her head in amusement and almost bumps into Scully who has slowed down in front of her and stops her in her tracks.

"What is it?" Scully asks, pulling her aside, not joining the group just yet.

Ally smiles at her, a hushed giggle escaping her lips. "Mulder? A word?" she calls out, signaling him to join them.

The man gets up from his seat and walks up to them.

"How did it go in there?" he asks them, standing next to Scully, taking a swig of his coffee.

"Your detective woman, she's hiding something…" Ally starts.

"What?" Scully asks, her voice growing in concern.

"Whoa, calm down. It's not what you think." Ally tries to ease the woman before her, connecting with her eyes until Scully relaxes her posture a little. "You brought me in there for a reason, and I listened; loud and clear."

Scully is standing in front of her, her hands on her hips, and Mulder places a hand on her shoulder, trying to ease her reaction. She takes a deep breath and Ally continues.

"Your boy, he can do a lot more than just… read thoughts," Ally informs them, giddy. She can't help but be marveled by the powers of the kid; the sense of discovery of another side of her own nature. He's like her, but so much more; he's more complex, with many more rooms in his mind to be discovered. It's a maze that she's excited to navigate. "He knows that I was listening in and he didn't even care, but that's not it."

She closes the distance between them until she is mere inches away. The next words she needs to speak carefully; it's information that she knows will have an important effect on the people before her.

"He healed her, and she knows it," she tells them, her eyes darting between Mulder and Scully's stunned expressions. Scully opens her mouth to speak but words don't come out. She turns to Mulder and he's covering his own mouth in stunned surprise. His eyes are smiling and his mind is racing with a million of implications, questions and awe. He's also wondering how many things they are still to discover about their son; what else they're not yet aware of.

"He healed her? Of what?" Scully finally asks.

"There's something on her chest… or, there _was_," Ally explains. The moment between Beckett and William was a conversation that had started before she was privy to the details, but she could still sense its transcendence. "It's something important, so important that she's still trying to make peace with it. She's all cluttered about it."

The detective's mind reminds Ally of a high school cafeteria, or a subway station; so many voices all screaming at once. Only that in Kate's case, it is beliefs and fears colliding at once with anxious feelings of what's right or wrong. What she should do versus what she desires. The constant stream of thoughts only takes brief pauses when she thinks of the man that now is standing by her side; as if the thought of him can manage to shut down the screams, if ever so briefly. The detective feels a sense of safety when his image comes to mind.

"He touched her…" Scully recollects the moment between her son and the woman.

"Yeah, but it didn't happen here. It must have happened atin the precinct, before we intercepted them," Ally assesses, and Mulder nods in understanding.

"We're just beginning to know the extent of his powers," he says, meeting their eyes, and running his hand through his hair, trying to find comfort within his own thoughts. "There's so much about him that we don't know yet."

"There's something else," Ally continues, and she can feel them tense up again.

"I was right. She wasn't taking William to the foster home, she didn't trust that place." Confusion brews in her friend's faces. They had intercepted the call, getting the information from the social worker. They had fthought her at the time when she changed plans on a whim and that they took them that they had been lucky that Beckett was taking an alternate route. It turns out they had only been them to set the ambush on a different street than the expected route to the foster home. Ally laughs at herself for considering that maybe the universe was helping them out in some way. William had known of Kate's plans, and what she thought was intuition, was only the beginnings of this amazing stream of thoughts she's sharing with the boy. Talk about connection, she thinks.

"She didn't want to leave him alone; she's really trying to protect him." Scully's expression matches the conflicting thoughts that swim in her mind. She's still so weary about trusting this woman, her protective instincts are on full alert, but even so, Ally can see a thread of rationality start to weave its way through.

"I know you're worried about this, but I think she's legit." The girl tries to calm Scully's fears; she knows that the woman trusts her. Scully knows that not only does she have enough judgment to appraise the detective's motivations, but she also has the sneaky upper hand of being able to see what all of them can't. Scully knows that she won't lie to her; she knows that she won't dismiss her fears if they're valid. "She really cares about him. I think we're good."

Scully meets her eyes, and for a moment all the thoughts in her head dim and a question arises. 'I wish I could also read your mind,' she hears Scully formulate; a helpless thought that makes her reflect on her own wishes. Ally has been there before, only wishing for the opposite. It's loud up in her head sometimes.

"What are you thinking?" Mulder asks Scully, his eyes boring into hers. She looks at him, biting her lip, fighting her next admission.

"I'm thinking that I was in her position once," Scully says, and Mulder nods, remembering the situation that had opened their eyes to a new level of awareness and to the scope of this conspiracy. Ally has heard the stories of the horrific experiments that they had done on Gibson, and she counts herself lucky that she managed to escape their grasp. She feels a sense of guilt from Scully over what she deems as a failure to protect the boy from such torture. She's still not over it, she still can't forgive herself. "Maybe I should give Detective Beckett a chance."

"Look, Scully, I understand your hesitation over this whole situation," Mulder states, trying to reassure her. "I have my own doubts as well, but we _need_ to do this."

She takes a deep breath and nods, a slow admission that they need to move on.

"We have to get going." Mulder nudges her, meeting Ally's eyes and squeezing Scully's shoulder before he goes back to the table.

* * *

Monica has finished her nervous packing and is looking at him expectantly. He's thankful that they are more than ready to ride this coaster with them, no matter what it entails. Mulder has found a good friend in the woman; she's always willing to entertain his wild theories, even when some of them might prove to be too outrageous. John and her make the oddest of couples, always questioning themselves but eventually meeting in the middle. If anything, their arguments serve for hilarious entertainment most of the time.

"So what's the next step?" Monica asks, settling down onto the chair.

"We're ready to get going," he responds, throwing the empty cup of coffee into the garbage.

"I'll get cracking on those credentials. Any preference?" Ally asks, extracting her laptop out of her backpack.

"Don't go too elaborate, just the standard stuff. No religious names, please." Mulder requests pointing at her, recollecting the many fake identities he's had to don during their operations. "I've had enough of those."

"Sure, sure." The girl gets busy, typing away on pre-designed templates that she's loaded into her Photoshop software. She's fast at this, everything part of a system that they've perfected.

"Prepare the kit," he continues in his instructions, and Scully takes command of that step, reaching for a case that lies under the table. "Detective Beckett and I will take the sedan back to Manhattan. We'll show up at her precinct. Fill them in."

Beckett, Reyes and Castle nod in understanding as he hears the noise of a compact, laser printer firing away the print outs of his ID.

"In the mean time, Monica, you and Ally start on our part of the deal." The older woman nods, trading looks with John.

"I still have an issue with that part of the plan," Doggett interjects.

"Trust her, she'll be alright," Mulder says, meeting his eyes and patting him on the shoulder.

It could read as if he's trying to calm his reticence but in reality this is an order. While Mulder has always manned this group as a collaborative effort, he's always held the power of decision when it comes to moments like these. It is never an easy situation, many times tension making their interaction harder than normal, but they always come to an agreement to hear each other out.

"What makes you think that they wouldn't be planning something similar?" Doggett continues, challenging Mulder's opinion. "For all we know they could be using their upper hand."

Mulder takes a moment to evaluate their options. He knows that right now they don't have any certainty and they will have to risk it, but the longer they take the more opportunity they're giving everyone to regroup.

They will have to be extra careful, and will need to get a grasp of the people involved in the investigation really fast. They can't leave room for any other agency to get involved. They will have to gain the trust of the NYPD, to get them to hand over the case to him, and minimize the possibility that others could be prying into their escape.

"We're gonna have to trust that we take over the operation first," Beckett intervenes in their conversation, and Mulder thanks the fact that the woman appears to be on the same page with him. "We need to move fast, before my people contact the FBI and our cover is blown."

He won't admit to it, but that aspect does make him nervous. It's a loose end and the entire plan rests on that aspect. He wouldn't want to show up at her precinct and have all their plans destroyed by bad timing.

"Here," Ally says handing him his dossier; a full description of the persona he's supposed to be this time.

He tucks the fake badge into his jacket and makes a mental note to remember it when he changes into his FBI attire. It's been a while since the last time he's even worn a button down shirt.

"We will have to be in contact at all times, every movement, every new development needs to be informed," Ally says finishing her recommendations.

Mulder doesn't think that this will represent a problem to them. After all, it wouldn't raise suspicions if the NYPD is sure that he's been following the Van de Kamps before. He prays that his story manages to just slip under the radar and they can continue as planned. Time is running out at every corner.

"Communication won't be a problem," Scully says, producing an ankle bracelet from the case and slipping a battery in it. They've used these before, for their own protection, especially when they've had to go on operations alone. A failsafe just in case they'd run out of ways to locate each other, stranded in the middle of nowhere, dead or alive.

"Are you serious?" Beckett asks in disbelief.

"We can't be too safe," Scully responds, patting the seat of the chair, signaling for Beckett to come forward.

The detective throws a glance at her partner who shrugs at her with a lack of words. She shakes her head and approaches Scully, lifting the boot of her pants in the process.

"Don't worry, I won't make it too tight. You'll still be able to run. It will only track your position," Scully says as she unzips the cuff of the leather boot and circles the woman's ankle with the device, snapping it in place. The red light comes alive and Scully twists the slim module so that she can zip the shoe back up. "Does that feel okay?" she asks, clearing her throat.

"As much as it ever will, I guess," Kate responds, twisting her foot in place, testing the range of motion and meeting the woman's eyes.

"Nice boots, by the way," Scully comments with a shy smirk and Mulder doesn't fail to appreciate the demure female bonding while he dons his own ankle bracelet. "I bet they're fun to run with."

He knows her well enough to know that she's trying to find common ground with the cop. In another reality, they'd probably let themselves share a lot more of these snippets of normality. They probably have a lot in common; similar tastes and stories to tell. The detective doesn't voice her response, but gives her a half smirk as she sets her foot back on the ground.

In the time that they've been on the run he's seen how Scully and Reyes have found a way to rely on each other; the need to build a friendship as a form of survival, a way to cope with the fact that they are living an isolated life.

He's built for this, his only need for socialization reduced to having Scully by his side, but she's different. He knows that she misses her family and the furtive friendships she built at the hospital while she tried to establish a normal life for them.

"Your profile is up in the server," Ally announces. "If they go in to check you out everything should be in order."

"That's it then," he responds. "Time to don that suit."

* * *

Mulder walks out of the room and Beckett takes advantage of this moment to regroup with Castle.

She walks up to him and they separate slightly from the group. She needs a moment to gather her thoughts before this plan rolls out. The man standing in front of her has always given her reassurance, even in the worst of times, but she cannot help the sick feeling that rests heavy in her gut.

Castle grabs her hands; they're trembling and she doesn't know if she can pin it to the temperature in the room or her nerves taking over.

"Are you sure about this? You'll have to take these drawings out of the chain of custody," Castle begins, stroking her arms, intent on comforting her. She sighs at his touch but she doesn't meet his eyes just yet. "You'll be lying to everyone, Kate. If you get caught this would cost you your job…"

"I know, Castle, don't you think I'm aware of that?"

She snaps at him harsher than she intended, and she instantly tries to reel back her temper. She takes a deep breath, meeting his gaze, finding his eyes looking at her patiently. He understands, he does. "I'm more concerned with leaving you behind."

She can feel the sting of tears in her eyes but she doesn't blink them back. She can't hide her fears from this man anymore.

"I'll be alright," he assures her, running a hand through her hair, smoothing the worry lines from her forehead and wiping the stray tear that escapes her lashes. His touch is warm and soft and she wishes she could just relish in it a moment longer.

"We'll be alright. I'll keep an eye on the kid." He winks at her, and she gives him a sad smile at his attempt at proving his value in the operation.

"I kind of feel that he will be the one keeping an eye in all of us," she states, and he nods in understanding. She hopes that they live to tell this story, even if it were only to end masked in the pages of a fantastic narration in a fiction novel.

"Don't tell any of this to Alexis or my mother," he requests. "The less they know about this, the better. We can't risk it." She nods in agreement. There's no need to involve anyone else in thisrisky plan.

"Ready to go?" Mulder asks, entering the room again and Beckett straightens her back at the sound of the man's voice.

"Yeah," she confirms, nodding over her shoulder. She turns to Castle one last time, letting one shuddering breath escape, tumbling out of her lips. His hand slips to her waist and under her coat, squeezing her hip, the touch translating the words that he's not saying.

"You got this," he says, his left hand cradling her cheek. She nods at him and Castle closes the distance between them to meet her lips, soft at first, but she needs more.

They don't need to be careful around these people; ironically, they're not hiding from prying eyes in this place.

Her hands come to his neck and her fingers twine in his silky hair, pulling him even closer. She hears him moan softly against her lips and she promises herself that this won't be the last time that she feels the warm feel of his lips on her own.

She breaks the kiss before she changes her mind, straightens the strands of hair that stick out on the sides of his head, and allows herself to wipe the moisture from his lips; one last caress.

He kisses her fingers, his eyes now filled with emotion.

"Until tomorrow," she says and he smiles at their intimate dialogue.

"Until tomorrow," he confirms. It's a promise.

She turns to the group and finds Scully straightening Mulder's tie; it dawns on her that she's not the only one parting ways. She's not the only one leaving important parts of her behind.

Doggett hands Mulder a briefcase and a Glock that he slips into his shoulder holster.

"You'll get your piece back, and everything else, once we're done," John informs her.

She nods in understanding, another inconvenient detail of this plan.

Mulder looks at his people, meeting each of their stares. This can't be easy for them either, seeing their leader walk away to expose himself to what could be a dangerous operation.

"Take care of the coop." Mulder shakes Doggett's hand briefly. Monica and John nod at him in twin regards, their faces revealing concern but holding back.

"Go kick it in the ass," Ally says, giving a silly high five to the man and Mulder smiles at her. They're a family, Kate appreciates, a weird one but still… a family.

Beckett throws one last glance at Castle who stands by himself, hands deep in his pockets; he gives her a tightlipped smile, and she nods back. Scully follows them on their way to the elevator.

"If anything should come up, you know what to do," Mulder instructs Scully and she nods in understanding. Kate wonders what their failsafe plan is. He pushes open the gates to the elevator and places his briefcase on the floor of the lift, turning to Scully and giving her a kiss.

"We'll be alright," he assures the redhead and she nods, separating herself from the man. Kate can see that this woman is probably running her own list of scenarios in her head, similar to her own, and the tough façade she's been sporting crumbles ever so slightly.

"Detective Beckett," Scully says to her, extending her hand. Beckett shakes it. It feels as if they're calling a truce.

"You take care of him…" Scully requests, her voice hushed in her plea and her eyes connecting with hers. Beckett studies the woman's expression and Mulder's. "You bring him back to me," the woman says finally.

Kate feels a knot form in her stomach and she nods at the woman, clearing her throat, trying to find her voice.

"And _you_ keep him safe," she says to her in an equal request that Scully matches with an understanding nod of her head.

Beckett takes a step back onto the elevator as Scully takes a deep breath and puts distance between them.

"Don't worry too much," Mulder says, winking at the woman standing outside the lift. He pulls on the doors and they creak heavily as they slam shut, surrounding them in darkness.

* * *

**A/N: So I love you all and your wonderful reviews. My B-day was last week, and wonderful it was. One of the most amazing gifts I received, was a video trailer for this fanfic. You can watch here. watch?v=It7thfdaP9Y**

**I've certainly never felt so honored. Thank you so much Joss! You're amazing.**

**As always, thanks so much to all of you that continue reading and reviewing. I really like continuing my conversation with you guys, so please leave me a review! And spread the word! Tell your friends, bribe your boyfriends into cosplay if they read this piece of madness. ;)**

**KyInHI... you know that you're the other part of my brain, now lets see if we can manage to stop watching Pitch Perfect.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the huge lack of updates. I went and made a movie in the last month. I'm still just recuperating!**

**Hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

The ride so far has been uneventful. Neither has uttered a word for the past ten minutes since they left the compound. By the looks of their surroundings they're in New Jersey, around Hackensack; the snow and darkness make it hard to recognize the area at first.

Mulder doesn't rush while he maneuvers through the slosh on the ground; certain streets haven't been serviced yet and the white stuff blankets the roads thickly.

"This is a fancy car," Beckett says, trying to break the ice. In reality she's wondering how it is that the Audi A6 Sedan fits the renegade life these people are living.

"It's Scully's," he responds. "I would never get anything as fancy as this, well... I'm lying, I've got another toy. She bought this one in 2010, before… before we decided what to do."

She ponders about how one goes about making such a decision, _deciding what to do_. She's had her moments, recently, when she thought that she needed a total cut off from what her life had been, from everything she's ever known. But Castle had eventually reeled her back to where she is meant to be.

Her thoughts must be loud enough though that he comments, breaking the silence. They have spent so much time out there, in a constant alert, that it shouldn't surprise her that this man can read her this way.

"Yes, that's at least two years on the road, if you're doing the math." His voice is filled with a hint of humor at her startled expression.

"Don't worry, I don't read minds as well," he states, his eyes darting from her to the road and back. Mulder's voice returns to a sober tone, his knuckles turn white when he grips the wheel, controlling the sway of the car as it hits an unexpected patch of black ice. "Not anymore."

His confession startles her but she hides it well. There's no need to seem more sensitive than needed to this man's revelations. She wants him to continue trusting her; the more she knows about them, the more that she'll be able to prevent events that she's sure will continue to creep up on them, on her.

"Did William get it from you?" She asks matter-of-factly, but genuinely curious, but he just shrugs. "What happened? Why can't you anymore?

"I went through this phase... I could read thoughts… see things differently. Not anymore."

They get on one of the main avenues, following the signs for the 95, headed for Manhattan. As they stop at a red light, people are already lining up at the bus stop; its 4:30am, and the city is starting to wake up. The familiarity of the route seems to have a calming effect on Kate, but at the same time the feeling in the car is still very foreign.

"I guess that you could say that in some way I could have passed those abilities on to him…" He continues, pensive after a while, the silence becoming too thick. "The truth is that we really don't know where his… faculties come from."

The trucks and service cars that cross the intersection seem strange to her, though they shouldn't be. She wonders if this is how Neo felt when he came back to 'his world'. Castle would be proud of her making a movie reference; if only in her head.

As they speed down the turnpike, she feels like she now possesses a chunk of information that could make her life take a 180-degree turn. For better or worse, she's not entirely sure. This man has presented her with such a complicated picture of their life, and now, they're unwittingly a part of it. They merge onto the 3 and cross Secaucus and Union City fast enough, headed into Manhattan now. There's no traffic, they will be on her turf in no time.

* * *

The man stares blankly at the encrypted email in front of him. It had been at least a year since he last heard from them, and even then, their communication had been brief and not very informative. _We're on the right path. We hope to not speak to you again._ But now, there it was, the coded message that meant that they needed help.

His help.

_Get in the car and call you mother, she misses your face._

Skinner closes the window to the remote server and takes a deep breath, wondering what they have gotten into. He reaches into his drawer for the key to his safe box, worry lines already creasing his forehead, a sign of the million thoughts crossing his mind. His hair is completely white now, no sign of the dark fuzz that he sported back when he met Fox Mulder over twenty years ago. It's been a long road, a long and treacherous one.

As he produces the cellphone from the green case, he already knows that he must prepare for whatever information will be waiting for him on the other end of the line.

There's just one number stored on the memory of the device; the only one that matters. He doesn't make the call, not yet. He will sneak out of his home for the call, like he hasn't had the need to do in so much time; the creep of anxiety courses through his veins.

He walks to his closet in silence, the phone still clutched in his left fist, and methodically dons his suit. He cannot help the thrumming of his pulse, quickening and pounding in his ears in anticipation. This is not the plan, but he knows what that message means.

He grabs a hold of his formal winter coat and scarf and heads downstairs. As he crosses the kitchen, he scribbles a note on a post-it, and sticks it to the fridge. The woman in his bed won't be happy and he's going to have to deal with leaving like this later. He hopes she can understand why he's leaving her out of the loop again. It has been a while, and this was supposed to be over.

As he sits in his car, he knows one thing; he's getting too old for this.

* * *

"How can you be so sure of all of this?" she asks, and she means it. Her mind is pulling at the last straws of her logic. This is your job, she repeats to herself. "Don't you stop to question it all? What if all of this is just the fantasy of delirious minds?"

"If there's anything to be said about this situation with William, it's that you could never be sure," he responds as they reach the bottleneck leading to the Lincoln Tunnel. "We're in this position because we asked those questions, and some of them were answered. He's one of those answers."

"It doesn't mean that those answers are the truth," she counters. The light changes and the cars in front of them rush into the dark as they enter the tunnel.

"You are correct. But when words fail to be convincing, actions prove to be pretty persuasive when it comes to making you believe." Mulder exchanges a quick glance with Beckett, his profile enhanced by the intermittent flood of the lights along the walls of the tunnel as they pass them by; warm yellow light contrasting with the shadows of the car. "There's a reason as to why you're following along. You've seen it yourself; you don't need to be coy about it."

Kate squirms on the soft leather seat, and focuses on the staccato of the lines formed by the tiles on the walls, the rows blurred and flying past outside her window. She tries to hide the shaky breath that escapes her lips when his voice comes again, it almost sounds as if he's trying to relieve her.

"We find answers along the road. We want to understand," he says, and she can recognize the hesitation hidden behind his excitement over the subject. "At some point, it just proves to be overwhelming."

She wonders how they cope with it. She knows that while everyone seems to be in synch, they each have their own level of involvement. She could tell by their demeanor that Doggett and Reyes had different opinions when it came to William and how their plan is to develop.

How did they all decide to join in this cause? Is it about being gullible or is it about conviction? She wonders what the turning point was for each of them. What became proof enough for them to shift gears and become this nomad group of justice seekers?

William definitely has the upper hand when it comes to knowing what to get himself into. For the first time, she feels like she envies him and at the same time, she is also dampened with a sense of dread at the thought of possessing such faculties.

"He seems to be at ease with you guys. William-" she recognizes. "He's quite the Zen kid."

"He met us before," he says, chuckling, amused at her joke. "We've had plenty of close calls on the road." A grimace grows slowly on his face and he takes a deep breath as they exit the tunnel, the surroundings very familiar now. "Last night wasn't the first time that they've tracked us down."

"Were you at the diner?" she asks, curious. Were they watching as they examined the scene? Could they have missed them in the crowd?

"We were a couple of blocks away when it all happened." Another red light, cleaning crews sweep the streets of midtown Manhattan. "They were waiting for us. We arrived just in time to see your colleague clip one of them on the shoulder and make a colander out of the black Suburban that sped off."

"Why didn't you take William with you right then?"

"And risk being shot too?" He responds and she sees the point. They would have exposed themselves to Karpowski, making the situation even more complicated.

"How did you know that William was safe or hadn't been shot?" she questions his logic.

"We have Allyson to thank for that," he responds with a smirk. "Let's call her an 'in house' interpreter."

"How so?" They are stopped at another red light and she's starting to get antsy.

"She… she shares some of her faculties with William," Mulder explains, and this part of the information is surprising. But now it all makes sense, why the young woman came into the room with them; she was spying. "In Ally's case, her origins are far more traumatic."

A garbage truck blocks the street and she immediately tenses at the recollection of last night's ambush. But nothing happens this time; no dark van, and no commando operation jumping out at them.

"While William seems to have come _naturally _to these _powers_," he continues as the traffic inches behind the truck, "Ally was engineered."

The scope of this conspiracy may go far beyond what Beckett could ever allow herself to imagine, and she fears she's getting lost in all the details that she should be storing away for later use.

"When I met her, she had been bouncing from one foster home to another, which was ironically a good thing," Mulder tells her as he checks his watch. "She escaped their grip after her assigned guardian got them into a head-on collision in the middle of the desert by the Nevada-California state line. The woman was pronounced at the scene, Ally got picked up by the emergency crews. She got buried in the confines of the mess that is the social services system and slipped through the cracks… She wandered many roads in search for her own truth. She even joined a cult."

Then the gears click in Kate's head. Allyson was part of the group they're escaping. That's how they know so much from that side.

"She's your in."

"In many ways," he says with a sigh.

The lights on the dashboard of the car dance as an incoming call shows on the screen. There's no number on the caller ID. He lets it ring twice before picking up.

"Took you long enough," Mulder says with an exaggerated scoff.

"The sun isn't even up," a grumpy male voice responds. "Some of us, old folks in retirement, find it unnecessary to wake up this early these days."

Beckett stores that nugget of information; the man on the other end might be older, maybe in retirement from a law enforcement agency. Maybe he's FBI as well.

"How's _Mother_?" the man asks.

"_Mother_ needs to see you!" Mulder responds with a funny tone, they're obviously talking in code. He turns north on 5th and Beckett registers the change in the route she had anticipated. "She planned a shopping trip to New York, and she needs your help carrying the bags."

"I thought she'd forgotten about those pleasures," the man responds, following along.

"She did. This is an impromptu thing." Mulder finally reacts to Beckett's stare, nodding at her, reassuringly. "Can you meet us in a few hours? I'll convince her to get you something pretty… Maybe a nice pair of diamond cufflinks from Tiffany's."

"She better add something else to this deal," the man responds mid laugh. "See you at eight."

"Make that seven," Mulder suggests.

"I don't own a cherry anymore."

So she's right then. He was law enforcement at some point.

"I'm sure you can make it happen. Stop driving like an old Chinese lady." There's a dry laugh and a muttered cuss on the other end.

"Sure, sure."

The line goes dead. Mulder better have a great explanation for this change of plans, she thinks.

"Who was that?" Beckett asks, curious and nervous at the exchange. "Who is _mother_?"

"No one. All of us." Mulder says, turning into the covered garage to his right.

"Where are we going?" Beckett asks as the sedan makes its way through the building.

"We need to switch cars," he states calmly.

"Why?" she questions. This was never laid out and the new details are making her nervous.

"Because… I don't what to risk anything."

They climb to the third level of the garage and slow down at a row of parked midsized sedans. "If I parade around in this one, I'm exposing one of our assets. Plus everything has a purpose."

"So what's your plan?" Kate asks as they pull in next to a cheap Kia rental car. "Hop into a _zipcar_ and drive away?"

"What do you take me for? What kind of FBI agent would drive a _zipcar_?" Mulder responds, climbing out of the Audi. She lets out a frustrated sigh; she's not okay with not knowing every detail, but he's got a point. They must avoid being followed at all costs. He startles her when he opens her door and ushers her out of the car.

"Follow me."

They walk down to the corner and into a stairwell. As they climb up, the flickering lights of the space paint an eerie scenario; her heart thumps hard as she follows the man in front of her up the lonely stairs. He opens the door to the fifth level and lets her exit first.

The level is empty, for the exception of a black 2012 Porshe Panamera.

They approach the luxury car and she shakes her head. "And this is more bureau fleet?"

"I'd like to think of myself of a higher rank stiff. Ally would never let me drive anything short of sexy." He winks at her while he pops the trunk and drops his case, opening another and dialing up a code that sets off a response in the car. "Plus they were fresh out of a purple 1998 Ford Taurus."

She's sure that was meant to be a joke, but her lack of response only provokes an eye roll from Mulder. He signals her to get in the car.

"You certainly have a lot of fallback plans," she says as she buckles her seat belt.

"It's a necessity." The car roars to life and Beckett can tell that he's enjoying the feel of it. "What do you say we go get us some coffee? I could go for dark roast right about now."

"Are you kidding me?" She's tired and yes, she could go for a coffee, but she's had it. "The plan was to go straight to my precinct."

"Fine, be that way," he pulls out of the parking space and onto the ramp.

"Look, I appreciate you trying to be casual but I don't get the whole vibe you're giving me of, '_It's all cool'_. Nothing is cool!" He smiles at her sudden outburst. "I thought you were in a rush to get this done. I certainly don't feel like wasting any more time -"she continues, trying to keep her annoyance in check but failing miserably.

"We need to make this believable," Mulder cuts her off. "If we go back right away they'll assume that wherever it is that I rescued you from is close. We don't want them to assume that."

They exit the parking structure and head to the Upper East Side.

"He won't be long, and I know of a great Turkish nook just on the edge of East Harlem. Good coffee."

It's not like she has a choice; she has no weapon to point at him, no cellphone. She lets out a frustrated sigh; she's sure she sounds like an obstinate child.

"For now, we wait."

* * *

**I want to thank like [-THIS MUCH-] to KyinHI. She was sick and still took the time to beta this chapter. If you are still at a loss of what a ZipCar is, google it, is a cheap and very automated way to rent a car through the city, they're parked everywhere, but definitely not your stylish option!**

**Other acknowledgements, to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, nudged and hit me up through Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter, thanks to much! I'll respond reviews again starting this chapter, I just lost count of who I had responded already!**

**PRETTY PLEASE, Leave a REVIEW! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Wait what!? Two updates in such short time!?**

**Haha, enjoy guys! thanks so much for the reviews on the last one, and please keep spreading the word :)**

* * *

Castle doesn't know what to do with himself now that Beckett has left. He doesn't have a task or an objective right now, other than to wait. It's not like doing nothing is unfamiliar to him, but even then, he's always doing _something_. Many people may think that he's just wasting away the time while he sits patiently next to Beckett as she fills out paperwork, or waits for a drop; the truth is that these are the times he's doing the most.

He's learned everything, the good and the bad about Katherine Houghton Beckett, while resting his elbow on her desk or making chains out of paper clips. Right now, he's apart from her, because this is what they need to do, in order to be together again. He'll let the time pass if by being patient, they'll live to see another day.

Monica had followed Scully inside William's room the minute that Beckett and Mulder left. He's sure they want to regroup. He should be nervous, but in reality, he's just frustrated.

Ally has been sitting across from him all this time, concentrating on her portable video game. He's been tempted to ask her, even thought to bribe her, to share it; anything he could do to distract his mind from the fact that he feels like he could bounce off the walls out of his growing anxiety. Pen and paper, that would help, he thinks.

The man, Doggett, leans against the far wall, snoring softly. He's sure that they have bunk beds far more comfortable than the chair he's awkwardly sitting on, but he also suspects the man's trying his best to keep an eye on him… He's failing miserably.

Castle's leaning on his elbows on the tabletop, hands resting on each side of his face, absentmindedly massaging his scalp and threading his fingers through his hair. He berates himself for doing so; it won't be long before it starts feeling grimy. The stubble on his face though, he won't be able to stop that. He runs a hand down his cheek and instantly wishes it was Kate's, her touch far softer and luxurious than his own calloused hand.

The image of her floods his senses; sitting on the bathroom counter two days ago, her smooth legs bracketing his hips. She had insisted on helping him shave, nothing new, but it had been such a welcome change of pace. Usually, she would be the one rushing him, but lately she seemed to squeeze in every ounce of intimacy she could. He was not about to start complaining; especially when they had to watch their backs so fiercely at the office.

A sudden sense of dread starts to creep in when he realizes that this situation is so far out of his control. He cannot help but to feel powerless, regardless of the fact that he assured her that he'd be here to look after William. The truth is that, while he's indeed there to oversee that the boy is safe, he's also pretty convinced that they don't mean him any harm.

They'd probably kill him before they let anyone hurt William. And isn't that why they're here, in this situation?

"Can't sleep?" Monica's voice brings him out of his head.

The woman takes a seat in front of him; he must have been deep in thought because Ally is no longer in the room and he didn't even notice her leave. A guard change, he thinks.

"Well, you've confiscated my iPhone… and I usually play a round of Angry Birds before dozing off," he explains to the woman, who nods in understanding. "That… or I make phone calls."

She gives him a soft smile and tilts her head, eyes bright in mirth.

"To her?" she says, suppressing a happy sigh.

He nods, embarrassed. He wonders if it reads all over his face how much in love he is. He's no poker player when it comes to Kate Beckett. His feelings for her have made him stronger but at the same time, those emotions engulf him, making it very hard to hide that she's also his biggest weakness. She plowed through all his defenses, and without her, he stands naked. He might have torn down walls, but so did she. He's had to learn to embrace this new state of being, where he's no longer the careless Casanova with a smug force field, but a man that is bent up on making the woman of his life proud of the man beside her.

"I think it's cute," she comments, sounding somewhat reassuring. The woman seems like a mix of motherly and innocence… if that's even a logical combination. She's calm but alert.

"It's the only chance we get to have normal _couple_ conversations," he explains to her, no sense in being secretive about it, they've already seen a lot. "Without prying eyes or ears, that is."

"No one knows?" she asks.

"Some do. Our closest friends," Castle clarifies, and his thoughts go immediately to the circumstances that made them aware of their relationship. He still owes Ryan quite a few rides in his Ferrari for not going overboard with the bragging rights of being the one to figure it out first.

"Her boss doesn't know. Or so we believe." He still wonders if the woman is completely in the dark about their relationship. "Though that would speak badly about Capitan Gates' detection skills. There've been some close calls, though."

"Gotcha." Monica nods, winking at him. "We used to work in a basement. No one cared to visit. It was a nice deal."

Her face blushes just slightly as she throws a look toward her sleeping husband. Castle's mind races at the one hundred and one scenarios that run through his head; of these two former FBI agents, sneaking around. He instantly wonders if he could convince Kate to do a thorough examination of the evidence locker. Focus, Castle, he repeats to himself. Do you job, find the story.

"So, I have a brief idea of how Mulder and Scully got into this business," Castle begins, prodding into the woman's past, taking advantage of her admission. "But what about you guys? Care to share?"

"I guess that if we're going full disclosure already, yeah, why not?" Reyes says candidly while getting up from her seat. "Freshen up that cup for you?"

Castle looks at his plastic coffee cup, the potion now cold and bitter.

"Sure," he says, accepting her offer.

Monica starts the Keurig coffee maker, setting up the pods for a Starbucks dark roast. The pour of the coffee comes fast, the welcoming aroma filling the stark space as she hands him back his cup while she waits for hers.

"I met John before I ever met Mulder and Scully. Summer of '93," she says, while handing him the small portable containers of cream and sugar, compact and slim, in total accordance with the rest of the gear that they have set out. "His son was abducted while he was riding his bike around his neighborhood. Luke was seven at the time. The reasoning behind it all is still not entirely clear; a tangle of pedophilia, the mob and corrupt FBI agents."

This part of the story takes him by surprise, but then it begins to makes sense. The man is weathered, the passage of time and circumstance evident in his stance, in his skin. She retrieves her coffee cup and returns to her seat. The chair groans a metal complaint as she leans on its back legs, propping her feet on the table.

"I was going on my first year out of Quantico when I got transferred to the New York field office and was assigned as the lead investigator on his case." She takes a sip of her coffee, taking a pause in her story. "Three days; it was a hellish search. Trying to not give up, turning every stone."

"John was an NYPD detective at the time, with the Fugitive Enforcement Division." Monica looks at her husband again, eyes soft and caring. "He knew what we were up against. He knew what the looks on our faces meant. I witnessed how the hope dissolved as the clock ticked away and the suspect list got thin. And then we found him… In a barren, frozen field."

A shaky sigh tumbles past her lips and she focuses back into the murkiness of the hot beverage in front of her. Castle cannot help the sickening feeling that settles in his stomach as he imagines the crime scene in his head.

They have encountered grisly murderers, they've seen much of the worst that New York can put out on the blood spill, he has combined all of these scenarios to come up with chilling narratives for his books… but luckily, they've never had to encounter a fatal child crime. Beckett has, and he can recognize the same expression on Reyes' features. It's a level of understanding that he hopes he never gets to experience.

"I requested reassignment to the New Orleans field office shortly after that. I couldn't stand New York, and my _sensitivities_ were better appreciated down south." Monica continues, clearing her throat in what Castle is sure is an attempt to regain some sobriety. "We kept in touch and he tried hard to get his life back together, but his marriage ended shortly after that."

"Did he continue at the NYPD?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, coaxing her to continue along the timeline.

"He eventually joined the Bureau," she explains. "He busied himself in the cases, I guess we both did. The job became our lives. We saw each other a couple of times on the road, a few beers on random nights."

The setup is so familiar, another version of Beckett's life splattered over other people's traumas. He's always been aware of it, but he doubts that people ever stop to think about the real cost of searching for the truth. While justice seekers are out there trying to make things right, they unwittingly carry with them the leftovers of every battle; there's never a blank slate, and even if healed, the scars are deep when the wounds are personal.

"We never worked together again," Monica continues, the impetus of the story winding down to a revealing tone. "Not until he got assigned to lead a manhunt… a manhunt for Fox Mulder."

* * *

Walter Skinner hates the city, more than he cares to admit, but ever since he quit the FBI and took on consultant jobs, it made sense to be adjacent to it. The world is a very different place now; people had focused on the post 9/11 era, but over ten years later, security firms and politics were definitely aiming towards a different north.

It wasn't about patriotism anymore.

Skinner parked on a side street by the market that Mulder and him had met a couple of times before. The first had been right after he had resigned from the FBI, the second right before Mulder left for Africa in search of answers.

He had reluctantly agreed to let him go by himself, again. He still has trouble forgiving himself, even after all these years. In his mind, he's still responsible for allowing them to kidnap Mulder while under his watch.

He can still see himself so vividly, as he searched the woods frantically and then heard the loud boom of the aircraft taking off. He had been there to protect him, to prevent this from happening and he had failed; he had failed Mulder, himself, and he had failed Scully. It's a childish feeling, he knows it; there was probably nothing he could have done to stop them from abducting Mulder that evening.

The event though made him face the ultimate proof that everything that Mulder and Scully had sworn to him existed, was indeed real. Now Mulder comes to him again, dangers probably knocking at his door. But now it's different. This man is no longer just his coworker, or a dear friend… He's family now.

He walks towards the café in the back of the store; older women pick from the assortment of spices and exotic fruits that populate the makeshift shelves and wicker baskets. Skinner follows the couple of steps that lead to the service area, the smell of strong coffee overloading his senses.

It is just like he remembers it; a red hue floods every surface, dark wood trimmings and stainless steel chairs, awash in murky light. The surfaces lack luster, years of use showing in the deep scratches and faded spots on the counter. The morning traffic of customers rushing through the locale, minding their own business; completely unaware of who they are witness to, not even a clue of the battles that they've fought.

"Good to know you can still floor it," he hears Mulder say as he approaches the darker area in the back.

He turns in the direction of the voice, his eyes still adjusting to the change of contrast between the halogen lights of the market and the barely there light of the back café.

With the smoothing qualities of the shadows, he can almost picture the young man that used to storm out of his office in frustration, or slouch in his chair as he mocked the authority of his position over and over again. He's dressed just as if they had never left the hallways of the Hoover building, suit and tie, a professional demeanor, just like him. Skinner regards him with a side nod of the head, but Mulder pulls him into an enthusiastic hug that surprises him.

"Come on, you can't greet your son in law in that half assed way," Mulder says, giving him an energetic slap on the back and patting his bald head.

"Stop that, you know how I hate how touchy feely you've become." Mulder snickers at the man's awkwardness.

"Okay," Mulder says sobering up. "Let me introduce you."

They walk towards a table in the far end of the crammed hall; a woman sits uneasy, her eyes following their movements.

"Walter, this is Detective Katherine Beckett, NYPD." The attractive woman regards him from her seat, the lamps highlighting a mane of hair that points more to some glamour commercial than to being a cop, he thinks.

"How do you do?" He's surprised by her firm handshake, the power behind it, confidence.

"That's a good question," she says, and he can't pin point if she's being passive aggressive or just honest.

Both men take a seat around the table, checking their backs and settling into the conversation, their bodies hunched over and protective.

"So what kind of mess have you gotten yourselves into now?" Skinner begins.

Mulder trades a look with Beckett, and Skinner is already bracing for impact.

"It's bad, pretty bad," Mulder states, running a hand through his hair and stifling a sigh. "But it's good. We have him. We're almost there. We just ran into some unexpected… events."

Skinner can read it in his eyes; he should have known when he saw his clothes, when he read his message. They're going back in.

* * *

**Thanks again for all the people that keep reading, tell a friend, bother a family member to read it, I promise to keep it interesting, lots of goodies to come!**

**Ky, you are the sunshine of my life in these rough times. Tiff, Joss, Becks and Co. Why can't I have you all in the same room?**

**PLEASE... Leave me a review, a shout out, what you liked, what you hated even what you'd love to see happen here. I'm having too much fun writing this.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of them... though, sometimes, I do get permission to dream that someday I could :)**

* * *

"Wait. They were after Mulder? I thought he led that… division," Castle asks, incredulous.

She knew that the revelation would shake him. It had shaken her too; especially when she learned everything that he had been through. It shook her with a bout of anger that she had to learn to contain for the sake of diplomacy, until she didn't have to hold herself back anymore. Not that it made any difference.

"He did… only that for a period of time, he… disappeared." Monica continues to explain. "You see, Mulder is a guy that you could say has risen from the dead? Gone to hell and back…?"

She is enjoying the writer's baffled face, appreciating his candor when it comes to sympathizing with their struggle. Or at least, she'd like to think he does.

She takes a breath and watches him, tries to figure him out as he processes the boldness of what she has already said. Is he really up for this? Is he ready to take in what feels like a lifetime of torture?

"I believe that if I were to actually tell you the details, I'd have to ask you first how open minded you are," she says, trying to read his level of tolerance to what other people would so easily dismiss.

"I think I'm pretty lax with my limitations when it comes to exploring different possibilities," Castle responds, a hint of smugness to his words and something else. Is it his patience running thin?

"I doubt you've seen this kind of different." She's sure this man's imagination is fertile, but it's different when you're being told that this is a reality and not some made up story.

"Then again, here you are, talking to me, while you hold me hostage because we ran into a kid that can read minds…" He lets out a soft snort and she can't help but appreciate the amused bitterness of his statement. "And, oh yeah, he draws magical maps; among other things."

"You got a point," Monica concedes. She struggles to regain her composure when a riff of nervous laughter threatens to arise. The topic is not necessarily a funny one, even if Mulder likes to throw a joke in here and there about his encounters with the daunting experiments.

"He got himself abducted... by _them_," Monica states as she points upwards and continues with her story. Her brown eyes zero in on the writer's blues. "He was gone for months. John was called out right away to lead the group, but as it happened, he ended up getting himself assigned to the X-Files."

She remembers the day that John emailed her about it. A cryptic couple of lines that almost made her spit out her coffee. John Doggett was working with the unknown; she would have paid good money to witness every waking minute of it. Eventually, she didn't have to. Months later, she herself had become a part of the X-Files and she's certain that her own struggles were soon the source of entertainment around the water cooler. No need to get ahead of herself though.

"There were other cases to look at; surprising cases, the unknown, the paranormal, and then all of the daunting horrors that mankind can achieve on his own."

Castle seems genuinely interested in the narration and she's enjoying this, telling the story to someone that apparently holds no judgment. "Mulder's abduction was Scully's only interest though. She was pregnant with William at the time; everyone could feel the weight of how important it was to find him."

"Was it known that…?" Castle probes and she interrupts him, the upcoming question totally predictable.

"That the baby was his?" She completes. "They were probably the oldest running bet at the Hoover. Well, you know, besides how many dresses J. Edgar held in his closet."

Castle snorts at that, and Monica makes a mental note of it. They share some of the same sense of humor. She has to admit it though; some of that bitter tone actually comes from John. Maybe after so many years together, people really do become one person.

"After a few months of zero leads, other abductees started to turn up." She continues and she can feel the nerves in her stomach start to coil at the memories. "Some of them reappeared in abandoned fields, showing horrific signs of abuse. That's when John called me in. This is my area of expertise; ritualistic crimes."

She cannot forget the night; a stark field, and the potent light sinking over the hill. Then there it was; an unfortunate discarding of the sick experimentations that these beings were holding, disposed of all around them. In the shadows, hiding in plain sight, an unknown threat capable of bringing them to their knees.

She had smoked an entire pack of Morleys after she had dialed 911 and told Doggett to rush over. Hell, she's pretty sure that he himself had wanted to smoke one after she'd told him what she had seen.

"There was a group led by a man named Jeremiah Smith," Reyes remembers. She can picture the serene features of the man in her head; his white hair and quiet demeanor making her uneasy, as if he was invading her defenses. "He was what you would call a healer leader, and he had a big following. Some of these people revered him because of his 'powers'… others because he was a tool for them to sustain a growing cult."

The compound was highly populated, she continues to remember. The darkness of the buildings and the crammed quarters of the dozens of followers of the cult had sent a chill through her veins. They all had that look to them; people in a desperate search for some understanding as to how confusing their world had become. Trying to find it in that cult might have been the worst decision ever.

"The abductees would be dropped off," Monica explains. "And Jeremiah would… heal them."

She had expected at least a double take from him, but what she got was a nod of understanding.

"Like William?" he asks, but it's more a full on statement.

She assumes that the woman detective has let him know about William's gifts and his effect on her, and her mind imagines the moment. It was probably intimate, or maybe funny; probably nowhere near as easy as this conversation.

She'll give it to him; he is very easy to talk to. Or maybe she just needed a moment apart from the group to be able to gather a new perspective. At any rate, explaining their story to a fresh and open-minded set of ears is comforting in a way she didn't even know she had needed.

"I guess you could say that he wields some version of those powers," Monica says.

"I'm sure that Mulder already introduced you to the goal of this faction," Monica says. "They believe that these _Visitors_ are meant to take over, that they're here for the greater good, to make things right."

"So you thought that Mulder had joined them? Just gone off the reservation?" Castle asks.

"I was proven wrong fast enough," Monica replies. "I wanted to keep my options open and even argued with Scully about it, but in reality, I was ready to laugh it off when they started to mention ET."

Castle raises a brow but says nothing.

"You eventually get used to the fact that they exist."

"I bet story time had to be pretty outrageous once he got back," Castle says, probing for more information.

"You could say that," she says. "I was mistaken; he wasn't part of any group and he wasn't out there preaching the crazy word… he had been taken, indeed, and then he was returned, dead."

* * *

The older man sits on the metal chair; his posture speaks of tiredness, elbows braced on his knees, while he cradles a weathered ceramic cup between his hands.

There's a moment of silence between them and she can feel the fatigue start to pull at her muscles. She's struggling to stay awake, the down time is not helping and this coffee… is not her coffee. Castle didn't make it for her, he didn't hand it to her with a demure caress to her fingers and a loving smile. She takes a deep breath; this is not the time to let these needs surface.

It's silly, how attached she is to him, but she knows she can do this on her own. She has to be strong, for them, she has to be strong.

"I trust that you've handled all the clearances we need," Skinner asks Mulder, while taking in a slow mouthful of the steamy beverage.

"You know Ally always has us covered," Mulder replies. "She says "hi" by the way."

The bald man grins and nods in reply. There's mirth in his eyes; the way that everyone reacts to the mention of the young woman makes her wonder how special she must be. She knows just by observation that she's strong, smart and fearless. The fact that she wields powers just adds another level to the mix.

Kate realizes then that she may not have the chance to discover the other layers, the many details behind this group of renegades. She instantly feels as if she's missing a chance, and then realizes that this was not the situation before coming into Castle's world.

Before, people came in and out of her life and she was satisfied with however little or however much she learned of their lives; she was content with being a brief visitor in their hardest times, whether they were criminals or victims.

But now, she's been exposed to him. As the intimacy has grown between them, it has allowed her to discover new sides to his process. She often finds herself surprised by random pieces of paper that comprise new ideas or details he doesn't want to forget for the next _Nikki_. Like phrases she's used in the interrogation room, or Esposito's new fad, even Ryan's endearing observations of his married life. She loves it when she finds a bit based on Gates, it always gets a snicker out of her.

She's come to terms with the fact that some of her life is being told, preserved for others to see through Castle's eyes. Though, having received a crash course on Mulder's "adventures", isn't their story far worthier?

It would surely make a Sci-Fi writer rich someday.

"We had a really close call last night," Mulder says, becoming serious.

"The faction?" Skinner asks.

"Yeah," Mulder says. "The Van de Kamps are gone."

The older man's brows rise, worry lines creasing his forehead. Kate wonders how much she still has to learn about this _Faction_ and if she shouldn't fear that they're in over their heads.

"What about William?" Skinner asks in a deadly serious tone, his body tensing.

"He's OK. We have him," Mulder says, laying a calming hand on Skinner's forearm from across the table. It's obvious to Kate that these two are close despite the slightly snarky tone that they use with each other. Still, she's beginning to feel like the third wheel as these two talk in low voices and all but ignore her and her impatience is brewing high. "Detective Beckett here was the one to answer from the NYPD… she was kind enough to… help us out."

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Beckett interrupts, finding her opportunity. "I don't feel like socializing while my partner is being held by your people."

"I see that this is not a voluntary collaboration," Skinner intones. "Lay it out, Mulder."

"We've agreed to… help each other out," Mulder replies. "In fact, I believe that Beckett improved my original plan."

"Well, that's not hard to do. So… come out with it," Skinner says in a clipped tone.

Huh, Kate thinks as Mulder flinches at the older man's short words; it seems this might be the one person who can control Mulder. She's beginning to like this Skinner guy.

"We have a great opportunity right now, Walter." Mulder continues. "They were careless. They killed civilians in plain sight to get to William, and now the NYPD is after them for murder and kidnapping."

"But you have William…" Skinner says.

"Yes, but they don't know that," Mulder replies, his expression revealing part of the ruse.

"So you're going to put it all on them," Skinner says. "And you've agreed to this? Am I correct?" he says, finally acknowledging her presence as Skinner's eyes examine her.

"Yes." Beckett replies, standing her ground when his eyes test her resolve.

"Why?" He asks and she can feel the FBI interrogation skills infused in his tone.

She takes a moment; this man won't intimidate her.

"I'm a homicide detective, not the doomsday police." Kate shrugs, crossing her arms smugly. In reality, she's protecting herself.

Skinner nods at her, and it almost feels like a battle of wills. He might have a firm grasp on Mulder but she'll be damned if he thinks that he can overpower her as well.

"I see that you've brought her up to speed." Skinner says, eyeing Mulder.

"You know how I love to tell a good story," Mulder says in a droll voice.

"Look, I need to do my job, and you to do yours." Beckett interrupts. "I've already made my peace with your _conditions_, let's try to make this as painless as possible. There's no need to extend my compromised situation any longer than necessary."

"Why am I part of this plan?" Skinner asks.

"We need to go into my precinct to recover the drawings. My team took them as evidence." Beckett replies.

"And you can't get anywhere without them…" Skinner nods, catching on. He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath this time. "Are we taking over?" His voice is just above a whisper.

"We'll try, whatever feels less threatening." Mulder says.

"My partners will trust me, but my Captain might be the wild card." Beckett says. "We're going to have to play it by ear."

"What's the time frame?" Skinner asks. "How are we setting them up?"

"Ally will cross over this afternoon. Depending on that, I'm expecting it to blow over by tonight." Mulder says.

"The faster we do this, the less space that we give for other people to question any part of this plan... the less time we give for any other parties to get involved."

Mulder is right and Kate's gut churns at the implications. This is really happening; the time is now.

She's been fearing the extent of knowledge that her team might possess by now; they're not dumb and she fears that she might have to shift too many gears once they arrive at the 12th. She hates lying to them, but she cannot bring them into this mess as well. She needs to protect them, they're her family. This is why they need to act fast; she can't give them too much room to probe, not into them, not into the _others_.

"We'll take the lead and plow through." Mulder continues, "This is the best opportunity that we've had in a while to clear the board; at least a good portion of it."

"It's already eight AM," Beckett says, getting more anxious by the minute. "We're good according to our timeline. For now." She gives Mulder and Skinner a pointed glare.

"I guess I'm taking that second coffee to go." Skinner grins, but it's a bitter grin, and she instantly feels that this plan is going against the man's better judgment.

Against everyone's better judgment.

* * *

Ryan squeezes the bridge of his nose in frustration. His eyes are burning from focusing on hours of video playing on three different monitors. The lines and shapes started to blur about forty minutes ago.

He grabs onto the paper bag on the corner of the table on his way out of the room. Jenny had stopped by before heading to work; she had left him a scrambled egg sandwich and a pale blue folded note.

_Hang in there, babe. 3_

He smiles at her handwriting. He takes a bite; the food isn't hot anymore, but he needs the energy, he's fading fast.

"Anything?" Gates asks, the voice startling him out of his daze.

"Nothing, Sir," Ryan says, setting the food down on his desk and running a hand through his hair. They both stand, observing the activity around them and he cannot help but throw a worried look to his team. "Not a phone call, not a clue."

Esposito and he have been exhausting every lead, searching every corner, but to no avail. It's too tough when it's one of them on the line; as much as they try to separate their feelings from the situation, treat this case and victim like one more on the assembly line, there's no rehearsed self-preservation strategy strong enough to avoid the added levels of stress.

Everyone in the precinct can feel the pressure; JT and Hastings stayed through the night, and led the canvas around the area they'd found Beckett's cruiser. He feels thankful for their help, he does, but as Hastings fills the murder board with details that Esposito has retrieved, seeing the blonde in place of Beckett is off-putting.

"We don't even know where to look anymore…" Esposito cuts in.

"What's the word on the traffic cams?" Gates asks.

"They caught the van on a couple of corners heading south, but after First Street we got nothing. We need more time to cover a bigger radius." Ryan responds.

"Did the foot work turn up with anything?" The woman is frustrated but there's no good news to share.

"The sweep of the immediate area brought in nothing," Hastings interrupts. "There's no place to hide that we didn't canvas in the vicinity, but like Detective Ryan said, we need more time, Sir… more muscle."

"That's exactly the problem, Hastings," Captain Gates responds, clearly frustrated with the lack of progress. "We're missing two team members."

Hastings ducks her gaze for a moment, chagrined, but quickly recovers and fixes the captain with a steady glare. Ryan is impressed; not everyone can go one on one with Gates and he's happy that if he can't have Beckett and Castle on his side, he at least has this tenacious cop. Sometimes telling the truth hurts, but at least this woman has the gumption to tell it.

Officer Johnson strides up to the group then, a little out of breath and eager. "Sir, the Van De Kamps' next of kin, she just arrived." He points to a serious looking woman in polished _Stepford Wives_ do. This is not far from what he had expected but she certainly seems a lot more refined than the Van De Kamps had seemed.

Maybe this is the rich sister, he thinks.

"Ryan, continue the work on the cameras," Gates orders. "Javier, draw up a plan to incorporate officers from a couple more precincts. I'll put in a few calls, too."

"What about…" Hastings says, gesturing to the woman with crossed arms who waits at the edge of the bullpen.

"Give me a minute and I'll join you in the visitor's lounge," Gates says. "You've been pining for that promotion to detective, Officer Hastings, you just got a pop quiz."

The blonde woman nods in agreement and leaves, her step energized, trying to hide a smile. Ryan knows better than to think that Hastings is happy about the situation, he knows that this is a big break for her... But maybe this is one that shouldn't be happening at the moment, not with so much on the line.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" Ryan asks, hesitant. "I can talk to her…"

"It's fine. I need you to run point in what you're great at," she responds, dark eyes on his, but gentler than he had expected after questioning her orders; the reassurance having a calming effect on him, she understands.

They see Hastings usher the dark haired woman into the visitor's lounge; her walk seems a little too distinguished, too alpha dog.

Gates shares a look with him, she's seen it too.

"These people have quite a few secrets that we're yet to understand." Her voice is hushed and worried. "I doubt that we're going to get a straight answer from this woman if we're to be conventional. Hastings has some bite to her. Maybe she can get us out of the deadlock."

The Captain retreats to her office, and he cannot help but feel that they may be falling deeper into the rabbit hole.

* * *

**At this point, these are pouring out of me. I hope the trend continues, it certainly is helping me cope with stress!**

**Many big kisses to KyInHI. Hope that you're enjoying the turquoise macaroon.**

**To the rest of you, my wonderful and smart as hell readers, thanks so much for your messages and reviews. I can't ever get enough of them, so leave me one more in that box below! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12, guys! I think this is my longest fic yet, seriously... Sorry about everyone waiting for an update for _I'll Look After You_, I promise it will be finished I just don't have enough time!**

**Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this one :)**

* * *

"Wait, but…" Castle objects, confused.

"I know, I need to pace myself," the woman says, shaking her head and getting up from her seat. "More coffee?"

"Yes, please," he says, suddenly needing to be more awake for this kind of information, or asleep, because all of the sudden he feels trapped in a dream. Nothing like this happens in real life. He suddenly envies John, deep in slumber and sprawled in a chair. He wonders how these people ever catch a nap with knowledge like this.

"So…" Monica continues, expertly handling the coffee preparation; she's fast, the woman must down many of these a day judging by the precision of her movements. "Mulder was returned, but at the same time, Jeremiah was taken. There was nothing we could do without his faculties."

"Mulder was dead and buried," her tone is sober and hushed as she sits down, hunched over the table, her finger absently twisting the ring on her finger. "People tried to move on, I tried to make peace with what I had seen, or… well, not seen."

The expression on Reyes' face tells him how much she struggled with this time in her life. Her eyes dart between him and her husband, downcast; she takes a deep breath. Castle struggles with his own reactions as well; the story is getting to him. He's sitting on the edge of his chair, totally enraptured by the narration, and the raw emotion threaded through her voice.

"What we went through had changed us forever, regardless of how little John wanted to talk about it," her gaze rests on the man to their right as he snores softly; she loves him, he can see it in the way her features shift with every glance she takes of him.

Monica takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes coming back to Castle, her lips thinning to a straight line in a sign of frustration. "It was a given, it happened. Whatever reasoning we tried to give it didn't fit into the realm of our known reality."

After all he has heard so far, what exactly is reality? Castle feels his head beginning to spin.

"The situation had shaken everyone to the core. Fingers were pointed, regrets and what-ifs examined; especially for Walter Skinner."

Castle's eyebrows knit at the mention of the new name and Monica catches up to his confusion. "He was the Assistant Director assigned to the X-Files… and he also happened to be the man that witnessed Mulder's abduction."

"He had never forgiven himself for it; the outcome of it all weighed him down like a ton of lead bricks."

It dawns on Castle that there's so many people involved in this insane chain of events; so many people that become victims, so many people that escape guilt and then the others that take it upon themselves to carry it because that's the only way they know how to cope. They carry the responsibility, avoid moving on, avoid acceptance.

"Although the FBI tried to transfer John to another division, and Skinner tried to convince him, partly pressured by his superiors, he decided to remain on the X-Files."

Castle listens carefully. For some reason it feels as if this is something that makes her proud of her husband, but there's something else lingering underneath.

"The existence of the department was in jeopardy with Scully going on maternity leave soon and Mulder out of the picture… so he stayed."

"That was pretty noble of John," he comments.

"Yeah, you could say that," she admits, her smile warm and wide. "I think that, even though he would never confess it, he had reached an understanding and appreciation for Mulder and Scully's work for all those years; he understood their passion for the truth, for justice."

Castle wonders how the man, that seemed so straight-laced and stubborn, managed to open his mind to all of this.

"That, and he had a gigantic soft spot for Scully." Monica snickers while clarifying, and it clicks in Castle's head. John had a crush on Scully and with Mulder out of the picture… It was easy to guess what the man had in mind. "I guess we all revere her, to different degrees. She tried to convince him to leave while he could but I think that deep down she was thankful."

"Did you request a transfer then?" he asks, curious about the progression.

"No, not then. Though I wanted to."

Monica threads her fingers through her hair and settles back in her chair for another bout of explaining.

"I had heard about the work being done from my conversations with John and the hearsay throughout the bureau; many laughed and criticized the fact that money was being spent on these cases, others feared that there was an inkling of truth to discoveries, and then there were the ones that saw it as a threat. To experience it firsthand convinced me that I needed to be a part of it. I'm always a sucker for these kinds of endeavors, but it wasn't the right time."

"How does Mulder come back in the picture?" Castle asks, impatient.

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," she laughs, hushed.

She's enjoying telling this story, he can tell.

"If I were writing this, I would have lost my readers by chapter two…" he says. There are so many details to follow that it could take a lifetime to get accustomed to it. "Too much to digest."

"Then maybe you're just lucky I can summarize because there's a lot more to this story that I'm skipping for the sake of your sanity." She laughs and breaks out an energy bar, giving him half of it.

"Three months later, just as Scully was about to start planning her leave, one of the abductees, Billy Miles, was found floating in the Atlantic," Monica says between bites, crumbs of granola falling onto her; she brushes them off absentmindedly. "He had been there for weeks, his body so decomposed that it was barely identifiable. Yet, he was alive."

The statement comes as the most natural thing in the world, as if she was just telling him the weather, nothing big, nothing transcendental, only that it is.

"How is that even possible?" he asks, his tone plagued with disbelief and disgust at the image; he wishes he could be better at hiding his reaction.

"Hey, I warned you that you need an open mind for this," Monica scolds, throwing him a look. "For the time being, just go with it. There's no easy or fast way to condense proof or fact."

"Skinner learned about this and immediately requested to have Mulder exhumed," she continues explaining and the image forms in his head faster than he can control his imagination. "John thought that Walter was going crazy; I got a call in the middle of the night as they were waiting for the casket to be opened. He was so frustrated with the whole situation…"

Castle can't help but side with John on this one. Even considering how open to "new possibilities" he was trying to be, people don't just come back from the dead. No matter how much he jokes about it.

"On the one hand, his logical self would not allow for this to be a possibility, on the other, he had already witnessed enough to know that he couldn't live with the doubt."

Castle hears Monica's reasoning, and he wonders if presented with the same choice he would have gone along with it.

"He wanted to protect Scully from false expectations; she had already gone through enough."

Would he make someone suffer through this just to satisfy his curiosity? These people had a better grasp onto shifting realities than he could ever have, even though he frequently immersed himself in other universes to write his books.

The difference was that he was a visitor of those worlds, the creator of them; he could leave whenever he wanted. These people had no such option.

"As incredible as it seemed, they opened the casket, and Mulder was there, back, like Houdini… Deadalive." Monica's eyes bury into his, connecting for a moment, saying with a look things that words could not describe.

For a split second he imagines himself in the same room with them, and there's no way to describe how this situation would have completely shattered his belief system. He tries, but he doesn't know how that feels. He wonders though, what would Beckett have done if they had encountered something like this? If he were the one in that casket, if he had been the one back from the dead, what kind of excuse would she have found to explain something this unbelievable?

"Scully's reaction to this…" Monica continues, her voice hitching in what he could only describe as excitement. "You've probably only seen half the strength she possesses."

Castle throws a look toward the closed door of the room where the red head had gone into hours ago, curious now of her take on this whole story.

"Until then, John and Scully had achieved an amicable relationship; notwithstanding the outlandish conditions they respected each other's opinions and limits," Monica explains, her tone filled with sympathy. "But as you can imagine, with these new developments, John's rational side could never trump Scully's fierce hope."

Castle listens to Reyes and he tries to understand. What if it had been Beckett in that box? Would he go against his rational self, against everyone's limitations, and challenge everything in the name of hope… of love? Would he fight for one more chance, even when everything seems surreal?

Castle's ponderings swim in his head as a moment of silence takes over their conversation. Letters become words, forming in his head as sentences that translate to his deepest emotions and he realizes that questioning himself is beyond ridiculous. He would. He would go to hell and back for Kate. And no one could stop him from it.

"John had been right about his hesitations. I guess it's one of those situations where while he was fighting his own limits, he still had to play the game," Monica continues as she gathers a few stray crumbs that have landed on the surface of the metal table. The tip of her index finger pushes them inward, making a neat pile, pure symbolism of the situation as she gathers her thoughts.

Castle stares at Monica, still deep into his own considerations. He's convinced of how far he would go, but how far would Beckett go for him… for them?

"I'm sorry, I feel like I've barreled you over with too many details," Monica says, apologetically.

"Are you kidding me? I live for moments like this. I take it back, you actually tell a great story," Castle says, snapping back to the present and clearing his throat. It is an overwhelming amount of information, but the weight doesn't come from length or details; it comes from the meaning of it.

"Oh but it's not a story, it's our life." John's raspy voice emerges from the side of the room and Castle turns to him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —," Castle apologizes to the man that approaches the table, rubbing the sleep off his face.

"How long have you been awake?" Monica asks John as he sits beside her and grabs her coffee cup.

"Long enough to hear how you're trying to avoid calling me a stubborn ass," Doggett says, drinking from the cup and hiding a smirk from the woman. His eyes squint at her with confidence; much is not being voiced, but loads of things are being said.

"Hey, I hear good things about mules… donkeys…" she responds, raising an eyebrow and matching his smile.

"Stop that, woman," John says, setting down the drink and swinging his arm around Monica's shoulders, protective and even a little possessive.

The gesture doesn't feel like it's a warning to Castle, to stay away from this woman. It feels like a gesture of reassurance to her.

"There was a man, Absalom. He had been one of the followers of this cult that we apprehended when Mulder was returned," John says, taking over and continuing the story. "He had since then learned a great deal of details, making him walk away from his previous beliefs. They had been wrong."

The way that John continues the story tells Castle about the degree of acceptance that the man has of his new reality. He's not flashy about it, or even excited to be telling this story. It's simply part of his life now; with all of its consequences and repercussions, with every change, as earth shattering as they were, Doggett has taken it in stride.

"He warned me about Mulder's _renaissance_. We were facing an unknown threat, one that we couldn't have imagined at the time." Castle leans forward as the man explains the new details.

"The real plan of the aliens was to colonize, gradually spread a virus that would turn a portion of our population in a very sophisticated breed of super soldiers that would only answer to their calling."

The man's blue eyes fix on Castle's. The seriousness of his tone comes as a warning about the graveness of his statement. "We couldn't stop Billy Miles from turning, but a lucky accident prevented Mulder from following into the same fate."

"I bet Walter is still thanking the stars for that," Monica interjects, a small smile to her lips.

"What happened?" Castle asks.

"You see, the fact that Mulder was back ruffled feathers with the members of the old conspiracy groups within the government." Castle listens intently to John; his words come methodically, carefully.

"These men had worked with the aliens, making many deals," he continues. "One of them was the development of a vaccine that would cure whoever was infected with the alien virus. These were people that were definitely not to be trusted."

Castle cannot help but laugh at himself. He thought that Bracken was one of the greatest conspiracies he would ever encounter. He knows he could throw into the mix Sophia and 3XK, but compared to this, they pale in dimension and potential consequences.

"These conspirators saw an opportunity to gain the upper hand; they knew the importance of William, even before he was born," Monica adds, joining into the tale again. "None of us knew what this child would mean; we were being played a fool."

"One of these men, Alex Krycek, offered the vaccine to Skinner, but at a price," John says, tilting his head, his body language communicating a lot more than he is saying. _Read between the lines_, it says, _guess how evil this man is._

"You have to understand, this was the one thing that would prevent Mulder from turning," Monica clarifies, and he senses how they're trying to connect the dots for him. "He knew that Skinner still agonized over not being able to save him when he was first abducted, so Krycek put it into his hands to decide. To save Fox Mulder he had to kill Scully's unborn child."

Monica finishes her statement, her elbows braced on the tabletop and hands clasped together, leaning forward; the gravity of the moment seeps out of her.

Castle can't fathom the cruelty of these people, the horrors that they were willing to subject others to for the sake of their objectives. He knew the world was built on different levels of belief systems, of different definitions of what's right and what's wrong, but life should always be a constant; especially a child's life.

And then he realizes… "But Skinner chose William over Mulder," he states, the pieces clicking together, fitting in a surprising way.

"Yeah," John confirms, shaking his head in amusement. "They never saw that one coming… that it would ultimately end up saving his life."

"How?" Castle asks, and he can feel himself straightening in his seat, taken in by every detail, every new turn.

"The more we kept him on life support, the faster the virus incubated," Scully explains, surprising them all with her presence. The woman approaches them, coming to stand under the harsh fluorescent light that bathes their group.

"When Skinner disconnected him, Mulder's temperature dropped." She places her hands on the table, supporting her weight as she continues her explanation, as if the memory pushes on her back and steals her air. "It stalled the advance of the virus, weakening it to a point I was able to treat it with retrovirals."

"So you saved him…?" Castle meets her eyes and Scully purses her lips as if trying to decide if she actually did.

The woman won't let her guard down with him, and he guesses that it is hard for her to admit it to him or take any credit for the fact that the man she loves is alive partly because of her. There's no ego to her in this sense; she takes no pride when after a moment she concedes, giving him a small, shy smile as she nods.

"After he was back, many key players of the conspiracy started to show their true colors… we didn't trust anyone." Scully clears her throat, sobering up the moment. "No one felt safe."

"What happened when Mulder came back to the FBI?" Castle asks and they all trade glances, letting him know that there's more to that story than what they want to talk about. "He did, didn't he?"

Doggett and Reyes lean back and Scully continues, taking charge of the explanation.

"For a while, he tried, but nothing made sense anymore. Not after everything that he had experienced. His priorities were different, his search was different… it was far greater than a pile of files of unresolved cases."

"It was all about William," Castle probes, finding confirmation in the woman's face.

"He is the biggest X-File, indeed..." Scully responds with a bittersweet smile. "The threats to our life became too great. To a point where there was no shame anymore, no hiding, and no fear of consequences."

She takes a step back and leans against the shelves behind Monica and John, her eyes downcast, examining her boots.

"The more we learned about their fascination with my child, the more we feared for our lives and his," she continues. There's pain behind those words, and for a minute he can see the terror in her eyes. She masks it well, but not well enough. He knows that kind of fear; the irrational, or in their case, well-founded anxiety of not being able to do enough to warrant that your child remains unharmed. "William wasn't even born and he was already being threatened... So we did the only thing we thought would stall them. Go off the radar."

"You escaped?" Castle asks and she nods.

"My delivery date was approaching; we feared that by staying together we would be a bigger target, so John came up with this idea…"

The man ducks his head, almost bashful, at Scully's words. She approaches the table, standing behind the couple before Castle. "His plan was to hide me in the most unsuspecting of places with the one person no one would search for; the one he trusted the most."

Monica and John trade glances, secretive smiles growing slowly on their lips; there's no lust or joke behind their eyes, just pure admiration as Castle observes their cheeks turn up to a slightly warmer tint. For a minute he can see a much more innocent version of this couple, one that calls to the most primal layer of emotion and its quite beautiful, he thinks. John and Monica's eyes traverse each other's features just briefly before glazing over and coming back to their own thoughts. He imagines that they're reliving the memories, each in their own point of view. Monica's expression falls slowly, as if she's fighting some kind of regret and Scully's hand squeezes her shoulder in reassurance.

"So that's when you come in." Castle's tone is light and he keeps a warm smile on his face. He knows that there's more to the sudden change of mood in the otherwise lively woman, but he will get to that eventually. There's no need to answer all of his questions right now.

"I told you it would take a while to get to my part of the story," Monica responds, her mood shifting, covering up the thoughts she has just let show.

"Did it work?" Castle asks, rushed, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Were you able to get away?"

"No," Scully responds, resolute. "Their tendrils reach far deeper than we had thought."

"But you're alive. What happened?"

Castle watches as Scully tries to find a way to respond to him, a pregnant pause growing between them as his curiosity peaks at its highest point.

"It took us years to figure it out, and I don't think we'll ever be sure, but I don't think that William turned out to be what they were expecting," she finally says.

She throws a glance at the closed door of the room that holds her son and lets a shaky breath escape her lips. Her face doesn't show disappointment, or confusion, but a mix of longing and something else he can't pinpoint.

"They thought they could take over, use him… but in reality, he's the biggest threat to them that they'll ever have."

* * *

**A/N:**

**So ok, I tried to write this faster, but when you're now making two movies at once, it kinda sucks every single minute you have... and then there's life and trying to not get deported but I won't bother you with that.**

**I hope you're enjoying it still. Next chapter is a whole lot of action and new discoveries for both fandoms, Castle's and XF's... no more exposition I promise, its just that I worry about the peeps that don't know about XF's storyline that much!**

**Please, review! I love when you do that! is the equivalent of a Nathan Fillion hug, and those are awesome!**

**And Ky... how about combining a passion fruit macaroon with a cup of Verona?**


	13. Chapter 13

**I know. It's been far too long since my last update. **

**Here's the thing. RL kicked me, tied me, spit on me and then left me half dead in a dark room. No, really, I mean it.**

**But I love this story. So much I spend hours telling KyinHI how it will end. If I ever disappear again, she knows how I plan to save the world.**

**Thanks so much for all of your reviews, and your continuous support, and please leave me a review!**

* * *

"I'm sorry we've made you wait. It's been a crazy morning here at the precinct." Officer Ann Hastings apologizes as she ushers the Van De Kamp's next of kin into the lounge. "Captain Gates will join us soon, but in the meantime we can fill out some paperwork, if you don't mind."

"Sure," the brunette nods along, nonchalant, adjusting her blazer.

The young officer has conducted interviews before, not _in the box,_ but she has talked to hundreds of perps; most of the time it's just another conversation, but then there's those heartbreaking moments when lives are changed, taking a 180 degree turn for the worst. She's craving the moment where she can do more to honor her father; he'd be so proud of her. She'd been about to enroll at a dental hygienist school when he passed away, but now she's far from that dull and normal life.

Hastings experiences a mixture of emotions that are not fully linked to the pressing situation at hand. She feels selfish in a way, but if her time at the 12th precinct has taught her anything, it's that sometimes you have to forget about being so apologetic about wanting to live your own life. You never know when it will be over and you might find your demise at the wrong end of a gun.

Reality is still just _that_ though, _reality_. On the one hand, two members of her precinct and a victim are missing. She has to bring her A-game, find a way, a clue into this potential life threat on people she cares about. And then, there is the fact that her performance on this case is crucial, they need more clues… and it could add up to be enough to earn herself a place on the team. She is ready and she needs to prove it to the implacable Captain Victoria Gates.

The woman before her tucks a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and Hastings wonders about the story behind her.

"I understand; no need to apologize." Her voice is deep, womanly powerful, in a way that reminds her of some of those stubborn DAs that she's seen prance their way around the 4th floor from time to time; those that make Gates dig her heels in and suppress the acid she'd like to throw at them. "I find it reassuring that people place such urgency in the search for justice."

She's an educated woman; Hastings can tell.

The posture and appearance of her is so different than what she'd have expected from a farmer's family relative, but who is she to judge? She needs to make a choice, either to shed preconceived ideas of what this woman should be, or to find a clue within this oddity.

"Justice indeed is the most important part of it all," Ann responds, centering her attention back to the woman. She pulls the pen off the writing board on her lap, finding the sturdiness of its surface a useful thing to hold on, the weight of it a welcome feeling. She settles across from the woman sitting on the green faux leather armchair, donning her best sober expression. _Be a pro_, she repeats like a mantra, this woman in front of her doesn't know that this interrogation could change their future.

"Can you state your full name?" _That sounds accusing, Ann. Tone it down_, Hastings berates herself; _she isn't a suspect._ "I just need it for my records."

"Diana Topher," the woman provides, the name flowing through lips that settle into a forced smile.

"And… what's your exact relationship with the… deceased?" The question comes out awkwardly, but the women trade looks, a sympathetic smile and a flash of grief that crosses between them.

"It's okay." Diana says calmly by way of reassurance. "My husband was Jane's brother. He passed away. Heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that." And she really is. The woman in front of her is still young to go through such a thing, losing a husband, but then tragedies don't discriminate when it comes to their victims. She knows plenty of that, from personal experience.

She certainly didn't think that she'd find herself at twenty-two burying her father when he had just turned fifty-seven; she didn't think that he would die from a senseless crime. Back then; she never knew that she would vow her life to fight crime, looking to fill the void that her father had left behind.

"It's been almost a year," the woman says; her shoulders shrug ever so briefly and her head tilts. "You eventually move on."

"Are you local?" Every little piece of information might seem useless to others, especially if you consider that this person shouldn't even be on the list of suspects, but clues hide in the oddest of places. More importantly, she still can't place why this woman doesn't fit into the strange puzzle that this case has settled into being.

"Yeah."

"Were they coming to visit you?"

"Yes. We hadn't seen each other in a while." For a moment Ann thinks that her response is a little too eager. "We lived in Ohio for most of our lives, and made the trip to their farm during the holidays."

"When Spencer died, I took a job at one of the firms in the financial district." Diana continues, her posture rigid, and Ann can't pin point if it is because she doesn't feel comfortable sharing her grief or if she's just nervous. "I needed a complete change. Our families though are too small, and so I remained their next of kin. I miss it sometimes, it's a great land, you know?"

Diana smiles, and her hands join in her lap. They're weathered, not from work but from age, the skin thin, wrinkled; her veins crossing very perceptible paths under the surface.

Another shrug of her shoulders, and while Ann thinks she had seen the grief before, she doesn't believe in it anymore. Call it a _sixth sense_, call it a gut feeling, but there is something missing from the woman's eyes.

"I can imagine; my family is from Buffalo." She comments, trying to ease the woman into believing that she didn't pick up on her muted nervousness or that something is bothering her.

The picture that appears in Ann's head is a combination of her own memories as a child, before they moved into the city, before her parents divorced and she picked to live in the city where everything would be more exciting.

Her mother didn't really care; she went on with her life and with her new family. It was clear from the moment they arrived in Brooklyn that her true family had reduced to just her father and she. When he had died, aside from the overwhelming thirst for justice that she needed to quench, there was also that looming sense of loneliness that settled in… until she found the one person that could understand her mission in life.

Ann begins questioning if maybe it is that she couldn't help but place herself in the woman's shoes, and that they don't fit. Losing a partner hits her sensitivities, yes. Not because she has experienced that particular feeling, but because she couldn't imagine herself without Paul. He had been her savior many times, and their lives have transformed for the better, and she's amazed by it.

The death of this woman's husband is recent; it wasn't brought on by a long illness for her to prepare for his absence, yet, the grief isn't palpable as she knows most people wear it.

"When was the last time you saw them?" Anne asks, trying to propel the interview forward, time being precious as it is.

"I would say a couple of months ago? We skyped over Jane's Birthday; I couldn't make it for Thanksgiving." Her response seems genuine; there are no signs of hesitation, her body language is controlled and natural. Check, check, and check. "It's funny that now we think that a video call is actually spending time with your family."

_If she can recite this response so easily_, Ann thinks, _would it be that she's willed herself in check, or is this what actually happened? Why am I suspecting her?_

"It's an advantage these days," Ann responds. "Do you know if they were pressed in any way? Debt? Any problem with neighbors, business partners?"

"Not that I know of," Diana says. "But I do know that a while ago Spencer mentioned that Jane had been part of a very strict religion. He used to say they sounded very much like a cult. So… maybe?"

"You should know that while we're the homicide department, we have plenty of experience dealing with kidnappings," Ann comments, trying to convey that they aren't giving up on a happy outcome to this situation. "In fact, Detective Beckett, the detective William is with, is one our best negotiators."

"I can't believe anyone would want to hurt them, they're such a lovely family." The older woman's eyes dart up, and a sigh escapes her lips. "I can't help but think how scared William must be."

"Do you have any kids of your own?"

"No, but I guess I do now." Diana's lips scrunch and her shoulders tense.

"Do you want to file for William's custody?"

"It was already arranged," she informs her, and Ann cannot help the pang in her gut, the sensation that's been bothering her growing stronger. "Before my husband died we were named his guardians if anything were to happen to George and Jane."

"Really? Didn't you find that strange? That they were foreseeing something so… final?" Ann leans in and she knows that she's already prying far more than she thought she'd be able to skim through without Captain Gates in the room.

"Well, like I said, small family." The tone comes across a little defensive, a little too aware of any suspicions that Ann may have. "You can never be too prepared."

"Is there anyone else they feared could take over custody?" Hastings digs again. She's already half way down the hole, and she might as well just keep going. "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable but you rarely see this preparedness unless the family already has the sense of a looming custody battle."

The woman crosses her legs, prim and her back straight, hands poised elegantly on her knees. For a second, Diana takes a pause and Ann can feel that she's biting down whatever response had been the reflexive counter.

"I don't know how this is relevant to you trying to get William back to me, or resolving my in-law's assassination," Diana finally says, her eyes digging deeply into Ann's.

"I'm just gathering information, Mrs. Topher," the officer clarifies. Her eyes don't waiver and she holds the brunette's powerful gaze. She mirrors her posture, crossing her legs and settling her board on the coffee table. "If there's any other part of the family that would want to keep William, then it's just natural that –"

"There isn't anyone else," Diana interrupts, letting the aggravation flourish in her voice for the briefest of moments. "Say, is Captain Gates coming soon, I'd like to talk to her about all the details that she can give me. No offense, but you're just a beat cop, right?"

Ann regards her with a tightlipped smile and a nod. She'll be damned, but there's more to this woman than just your token grieving in-law.

* * *

Their drive to the 12th is fast, considering that every New Yorker is on their way to work and cabs and buses are already in their daily battle over road space. It doesn't help that there's still snow on the ground, or the fact that more people are out and about finishing their Christmas shopping. Still, the drive is fast, or Kate's too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice that they're only a couple of blocks away from the precinct and she hasn't uttered a word since they left the café.

"The garage is just around the corner," she informs him. "I have to identify us to be able to access it."

"That won't be a problem." Mulder responds, calmly, as he turns into the next street. Kate wonders how it is that he's so cool about it. How many times did he go undercover in his time at the FBI? How many times did he lie his way into getting what he wanted?

She fidgets in her seat, trying to will herself into the persona that she has to adopt for the sake of their plan. She tries tricking her mind into thinking that this is just like any other day when she covered her shifts at Vice. Only she wasn't lying to her best friends then. Lying didn't feel this wrong when she was doing it for the sake of putting vicious criminals behind bars. _This time you're doing it to free yourself,_ she repeats. The fact that Castle and she still hide their relationship from the boys doesn't make her feel this guilty. It is their personal life after all; it doesn't affect other people's lives. But this plan… this plan has the potential to endanger many innocents for the sake of… _The greater good,_ whatever that means.

They near the checkpoint at the bottom of the garage and a uniform approaches the car with caution, aware that this luxurious sedan isn't part of the precinct's usual pool.

Mulder lowers the driver's window while exchanging a quick look with her.

_Showtime._

"Hi, Matta," Beckett says, stretching over to the driver's side so the rookie officer can see her face. "It's okay. He's with me, and so is the sedan behind us. They're FBI."

"Detective Beckett!" The young man greets her, almost cutting her off, obviously in the know of the situation that took place last night. "I'm glad to see you safe and sound. Of course I can let you through, but may I see some ID, just for the sake of… you know?"

"Of course," Mulder obliges and produces a leather wallet, his fake FBI badge on display for him. A knot tightens in her stomach as the fear of being caught starts to settle in her bones, but not an ounce of doubt appears on Matta's face.

"Thank you, Agent Miller," Kate is almost startled at the mention of the different last name; _right, it's not Mulder, it's Miller_. _Get that straight in your head, Kate._

"Deputy Director Smith is right behind us," Mulder informs him, and the mention of rank impresses the young officer, his posture straightening up just enough.

"I'll make sure to speed up his access as well," Matta takes a quick note of the badge number and car plates. "Please, go ahead." He waves for the operator to lift the barrier and they move into the structure. Kate checks on the exchange at the car behind them, indeed brief and fuss free, and makes a mental note to figure out how to actually correct the problem that they just entered the precinct illegally and easily fooled a police officer with fake identifications. Later, she'll do that later… for the people that in the future intend to fool the NYPD... like she just did. Crap. She hasn't even entered the bullpen and already the guilt is eating her alive. Kate takes a few deep breaths; she needs to get herself under control.

Mulder parks in one of the visitor spaces and Skinner follows them right away. Kate takes a calming breath as they exit the sedan, straightening her clothes and pulling at the leg of her pants, self-conscious about the device on her ankle.

"You're fine. No one will notice it." Mulder eases, reading the discomfort on her face. He dons his jacket and so does the older man, exchanging a look. They're ready to roll.

"I'll take the first pass of the events once we get in there," Beckett lays down the plan as they walk towards the bank of elevators. "You can fill in with your part of the story once I'm done."

"That sounds about right," Mulder agrees. They enter the elevator and Beckett immediately pushes the 4th floor button, welcoming the fact that no one rides the cab with them. "You like being first, don't you?"

The familiar comment moves something inside her. The side glance she throws him catches the smirk he's plastered all over his face and she wonders if this is how it went for Mulder and Scully as well; the innocent flirting, the smartass comments, the dare to go further down the rabbit hole with each day of longing for one another.

Yes, she has definitely been hanging _way too much _with Castle. She's getting soft and becoming a sap.

"Whatever you do, don't try to get into a gigantic pissing match with my Captain," she says, clearing her throat and regaining control over her thoughts as the cab climbs up to their destination. "Even as FBI, it's hard to win one with this woman. She's me… a _meaner_ me."

"Or a _future_ you…?" Skinner asks, and the man's suggestion startles her a little.

Mulder stifles a snort as the doors open and they exit the elevator; she takes firm steps toward the room, heads whipping back as the people on the floor notice her presence, low and surprised whispers, and growing smiles. Yeah, they're so happy to see her back, in one piece, and she cannot help but notice the similarity to the day she walked back in after recovering last year. This time though, the feeling is completely opposite; she's ashamed and not feeling at all victorious.

"Beckett!" Esposito greets her, eager and relieved; there's no need to say the words, he's happy to see that she's alright. "Yo! Ryan!" He calls out as Ryan steps out of the audiovisual room and rushes toward her, along with a couple of other officers that seem to be running point with them.

"Hey guys," she responds with a small smile; she doesn't really know how to face them. Should she be happy? Or mildly concerned? Some point in between?

"Kate, are you alright?" Ryan questions her and concern is written all over his face. They probably stayed all night trying to find them, of course. The bile in her stomach starts burning, very much like her shame.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm banged up but I'm okay."

"Where's Castle?" Espo asks eyeing the two men flanking her. "Where's the boy?"

She sighs and signals to Mulder and Skinner.

"It's complicated," Beckett begins.

"Detective Beckett," Gates calls out, coming out of her office and catching up with the excitement in the room. "I'm glad to see you back safe and sound."

"Thank you, sir." Her eyes drift to the floor, not able to hold her superior's greeting, fearing she will read the lie in her.

"What's going on?" Gates asks, eyeing Kate's company.

"Captain Gates, is it?" Skinner starts, extending a hand towards the woman.

"Yes." The woman's eyebrow rises; one of the tells that Beckett has learned to read on her boss. This particular one means _I'm the alpha dog of this yard, and you smell suspiciously like a cat._

"I'm Deputy Director Smith with the FBI," he shakes her hand and Kate can see Gates' wheels spinning at the unexpected rank of the man before her.

"Special Agent Miller, also FBI," Mulder introduces himself, confident and casual, but with a sense of authority in his voice.

"Is there a more private room where we can speak?" Skinner requests. Gates seizes them with her eyes, not intimidated but definitely curious, and then trains a concerned look on Beckett.

"Yes, of course. Let's go into my office." The woman leads them into her quarters, and they all follow suit, professional and no nonsense, but Kate cannot avoid the traded looks between Esposito and Ryan, and the concern behind it.

She knows that the boys are dying to know what's going on, so she sneaks a signal with her hand: _calm down, guys_, she tries to communicate. _I'll be back later to lie to your faces,_ she thinks as she walks into the office and settles in one of the chairs in front of Gates' desk.

Of all the things that Kate Beckett dreads the most, it's to fall down the rabbit hole of a lie that she won't be able to control.

* * *

**The following 4 chapters are either already written or in the process of. I plan for an update every Sunday :)**

**Thanks so much to the amazing KyinHI... who's been kidnapped by Dr. Quinn... and that's terrible. I'm off to continue dreaming about being on set and making movies and TV shows, because, well, that is indeed the love of my life.**

**PLEASE REVIEW - LIKE - REC! I love you all!**


	14. Chapter 14

**LOOK! I kept my promise! Here it is, next chapter.**

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Captain Victoria Gates is exactly what he imagined. A _tough as nails_ woman that he'll be lucky to fool, but Mulder always liked to play with fire. And this isn't his first rodeo.

He is completely aware of the _New York Style_ when it comes to the character of law enforcement agencies. Each city has its ways; small, uneventful and on the verge of having their reality changed forever, like in Home, Pennsylvania; or no nonsense, busy and experienced as with the Homicide department of the 12th precinct in Manhattan.

People and their beliefs are what make the difference. He'd be scared if this woman were his boss - not that Skinner was any easier than her, or that he didn't battle things and people that were far scarier in other arenas - but what makes this different is that Victoria Gates' weapon is her righteousness.

It's hard on the conscience to cheat good folks.

As Beckett fills her in on their fabricated story, he makes a thorough effort to check for any signal that she may be failing to convince her boss.

"Despite the circumstances, I'm indeed glad that you could get away from these people," Gates notes, relief showing through, and her concern evident in her voice. "And while it is terrible that Mr. Castle and the boy weren't able to evade them as well, I am glad that they're together."

Beckett nods in understanding, lips pressed in a thin line that attempts to express some kind of agreement with the woman, perhaps a smidge of delight. This is something that he has already recognized from Detective Katherine Beckett; her face is perhaps one of the most expressive that he's had the opportunity to encounter.

Mulder wonders if this is a result of her honesty or the fact that she seems to wear her heart on her sleeve. Despite her herculean efforts to wear a force field to cover her weaknesses, and a temper to match, Kate Beckett is the bashful owner of a noble soul. Her expressiveness might get them into trouble at some point; she almost certainly doesn't spend her free time playing poker. Then again, it doesn't take a genius to guess with what, or well, with _whom_ she spends all her free time.

"Where do these drawings fit into the whole story?" Gates asks leaning on her desk, lacing her fingers in front of her.

"While the Van de Kamps were inside the cult, their people taught William how to encode maps," Mulder explains, sizing up the impact of the information on the woman. He's not lying, not exactly. "These drawings are a combined variety of messages that only a few can decipher."

"We were bringing a specialist in a few hours…" she informs him.

"It won't do any good. Only members of this very secluded cult can read them," Mulder clarifies, and it's true; no one but William, and maybe Ally, in a far off and skewed kind of way.

"So this is why they want him?" She asks; her voice is wary. Mulder's not sure that she bought the fact that William truly is the only one. Perhaps he should tone down the all-knowing, FBI agent spiel. "What kind of messages do they hide?"

Mulder takes a deep breath and exchanges a look with Skinner. If they're to follow their so-called rank, he'll let the older man deliver the most _compromising_ piece of news, fake news... well, maybe not so fake.

"It could be anything from everyday communication to… domestic terrorism." Mulder watches, as he can literally see the color drain from the woman's face, the air escaping her lungs as if someone has punched her in the gut, her eyes never leaving Skinner's. Kate's though, are examining the floor beneath her seat, avoiding meeting her boss' gaze as much as she can.

The silence becomes deafening after a while and Victoria Gates gets up from her seat, hands on her hips, taking a few steps away from her chair.

"I—" She stutters, hesitates, and rushes to the windows of her office, shutting all the open blinds for good measure. "Am I to assume these people are preparing a terrorist attack in the city?"

It almost sounds like a scold, incredulity seeping through every surface of her tone.

"We can't assure you _that_," Mulder tries to clarify, and even if he were really telling this woman the truth, he couldn't really predict the plans of the cult. "What we can tell you is that the longer we take to put William in the same room with these drawings, the more we are at risk being in the dark about what their plans are."

The last part of the statement comes out more anxious than he had meant it to, but he needs to push. He needs to get the ball rolling and his team working towards finishing this age-old dance.

"The question remains; am I to suppose the Bureau wants to take over?" The woman leans on the side of her desk, arms crossed stubbornly across her chest.

"I'm sure you are well aware of the drill. This is a case that we've been tracking through various states," Skinner explains, only to be cut off by Captain Gates' argument.

"But unless you're counting going after these folks through state lines as part of their charges, or that you're for real accusing them of terrorism," her hands speak volumes as they gesture and grip her hips, "all events happened in the state of New York, more specifically in my precinct's jurisdiction."

And there it is; the claws of this tiger have appeared. Yeah, this is also not _her_ first rodeo. This won't be easy; Beckett was right. Mulder wasn't really expecting any less, and neither was the detective, not by the '_I told you so'_ look she's throwing at him.

Gates cocks her head defiance, expecting their convincing argument. He looks at Skinner and the man looks back at him; it's his turn, and maybe not the wisest idea, because his patience is running short. Gates clears her throat; hers is running thin as well.

"You fail to see the bigger picture here," Mulder begins, and he means to seem level headed, he really does, but this meeting is bringing back memories of some serious head-butting in offices of the Hoover, and that only ever led to ridiculous danger.

"We've been trying to infiltrate this cult for a while; the Van de Kamps risked their life just by trying to get away." He can feel his jaw setting and instinctively tries to loosen the tension, cracking his neck, but it's not really working. "Letting the NYPD lead the investigation because the actual documented crimes happened in the city will bring down an effort of multiple task forces, the careful treatment we've given to this will go to waste… make their deaths completely worthless."

His heart rate is soaring by the time he ends his argument, and his voice raised more than he meant it to, but he's not lying. Letting them make a cluster fuck of this problem and call the shots won't help their plans. Even if Castle and William aren't in any danger, they will be if they don't play this carefully. They all could be. Only _they_ know how to handle the dangerous and vicious strategies of the leader of the cult. Curtis Weaver is on Mulder's top-five list of people that were bred by Satan himself.

It's up to Skinner, or _Smith_, Mulder corrects his thoughts as the man shifts in his seat next to him, to smooth the wrinkles of his outburst. The older man leans towards the authoritarian woman, with a conciliatory tone and a side-glance aimed at him that clearly says, '_I'll be kicking your ass later'._

"What I think Agent Miller wants to get across, is that while we're really sorry they were killed –"

"Murdered," Gates corrects him, bitterly.

"Yes," Skinner nods, "_murdered_, as you say… what we want to avoid, is to loosen our grip on this case. If we do, more _events_ like this one will occur."

"They gave their life to protect their son." _My son_, Mulder thinks, his cadence a lot calmer now. "We know their objectives, their weaknesses, and we're very close to finishing this nonsense."

"Mr. Castle and William's lives have a better chance with us leading the way." Skinner takes a final stab, and he can see that he is getting through to the woman. Beckett adjusts in her seat, and Mulder is sure that it's due to the mention of her partner's name. He doesn't want to think that this is the deliberate way that they'll force her hand into agreement, but if it comes to it, he knows that while it will be unfair, his son and the greater good hold a heavier grip.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that by the end of the day I won't really have a choice," Gates perches her glasses back up her nose, masking the eye roll and the twitch that tells of her annoyance. "You'll probably get the gods in the marble halls involved in this pissing match."

"That's the thing Captain Gates, we don't want it to be that way." Skinner clarifies.

"What do you mean?" The Captain goes back to the seat behind her desk, and the sly way her eyebrows adjust over her eyes tells him that she's nothing but surprised at this.

"I'm sure that you're aware that the power players in the terrorism race have changed." Skinner begins, the story flows from him, studied, carefully laid out. He's not unfamiliar to it; they've talked about this at length before. This would be their fall back story, and Ally was careful enough to put together great notes for them. It is also what he has been doing for the last few years; trying to figure out who's the enemy in a world that has lost all sense of black and white. "There has been a suspicion for a while that the members of this cult have had the ability to infiltrate. Deploying a federal team would alert their sources of our plans; let them prepare for the magnitude of the strike we want to unleash."

"Hence why they're asking to be secretive…" Beckett intervenes and her voice seems foreign after being in silence the last few minutes of the conversation.

"I understand your hesitation towards the unique nature of our request and the circumstances, but this is why I've come to support Agent Miller." Skinner continues explaining.

It works for them that Skinner plays this part. They cannot afford to be questioned in their authority, to have Gates digging into the legitimacy of their credentials, even if that call is more than arranged for on their side. Having a Deputy Director in the room means that things are less questioned, even when this woman seems like she won't budge.

"I know how it sounds, and I know you'd be having a very delicate situation on your hands," Skinner admits, trying to bond with his cohort. "But I'm putting my reputation on the line as well by putting all my chips in on this bet. The integrity of this operation, it's of the utmost importance to our agency."

Mulder has to fight the laugh when he thinks about how ironic it is that they're using the FBI to blanket their operation. Back in the day, not only would Skinner laugh at his naïve intention of having the agency sponsor his search, but also this man was the one standing ground at the allowance door for half of the time that he carried the X-Files along with Scully.

"If you're so paranoid about information being leaked, what makes you think that they won't be able to infiltrate NYPD as well?" Gates asks, challenging their logic. And she's right; they have to tip-toe around this logic.

Mulder gets up from his seat and takes a step towards the wall, looking at the framed awards and certificates that celebrate Gates' career in the NYPD. He's buying himself time, and spreading the tension; upping the pressure for dramatic effect.

"We cannot undo whatever information has already been spread about the case." He fixes his eyes on a picture of Gates' family resting on a nearby tabletop. "But I was assured by Detective Beckett that your team is a solid one, that full trust has been placed in it during very sensitive cases."

Mulder stands behind Beckett and braces his hands on the back of her seat.

"What we're asking is to become a real and truthful task force…" he says.

"Go on," the captain coaxes.

"We'd really appreciate it if we could collaborate." Mulder continues, circling around the space, making his point, and selling the plan. "Right now, they're expecting the NYPD to be involved, but not the feds. If we play by those expectations, they probably won't prepare for anyone to know too much of their background, they'll think that they only have to watch out for some flat-feet, sniffing around some random gang shooting."

Gates nods her understanding with a slight frown of disgust at his choice of words.

"The NYPD will be the _muscle_," he makes the effort to correct the term, trying to convey he's not selling them short, "but with our knowledge, steering this ship, it would be-"

"As if it were the FBI in disguise." Gates completes. "This might the one instance that common misconceptions could work to your advantage."

There's a moment of silence while the woman meditates about what she was just proposed. She leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. He's sure that she's already evaluating what kind of problems and danger she might be signing up for.

"Okay, what's the next step?" she asks without looking at them.

"We would like Detective Beckett to come in as our right hand," Mulder informs her, earning him Gates' full attention. "For the sake of the precinct, she'd be the one leading the investigation."

"I don't like this…" Gates quips. "Some of them might wonder why she is leading the disappearance of her own partner…"

"I was told she's your best detective…" Skinner argues. "Who else would you have appointed?"

"I would have led myself, but… I guess that would bring even more attention."

"Captain Gates, we don't really have to do this; we're giving you an opportunity here. It's your call." Skinner is the one playing poker now.

"You just said that you need us," Gates challenges, calling his bluff.

"To make it seamless, yes, but we can always get it our way. It would just represent a bigger risk to the hostages." And the mention of them works like a charm when it comes to playing with the resolve of the woman. Skinner delivers the last hit. "You want to solve your homicide and get your man back? Come play with us. We're going after the big fish."

"What do you think, Detective?" Gates asks Beckett after what seems like an eternity. Mulder is about to burst out of impatience, pacing behind them.

Kate looks at him and Skinner; her gaze is steely and resolute. She's ready to roll as well, but there's something else there that he can't figure out just yet.

"I think that they may have a point, Sir," she begins, leaning her elbows on her knees. "But I think that maybe we could afford to come to a better agreement."

Kate's eyes fixate on him and he feels it like a punch in the gut. This is not what they talked about; she waited until they were on her turf to shift the tables on him and he doesn't like it. Mulder can feel the heat in his face as he tries to control his anxiety; so much for trusting this woman.

"I work as a team, and one of my partners is already compromised." Kate explains, getting the new aspects of her deal through. "I need the rest of my team with me. If I'm to come in and _help_, I'd like Detective Esposito and Detective Ryan to remain in the loop and be part of this operation… not just '_some muscle'_."

She's daring him, blatantly defiant.

"Captain Gates?" Skinner addresses the woman for her opinion.

"They are indeed a team. Working separately would only bring more questions." She assures. Skinner nods, evaluating the situation himself and checking on Mulder for his own opinion.

"I guess that if it's only going to help…" He bites back his confusion and bitterness at Beckett for her betrayal. Though, it dawns on him that he doesn't understand why if she was the one that wanted her team out of this whole deal, now all of the sudden she's changed her mind. It's killing him that he can't guess her play, that she's maneuvering about this without a clear path. It's killing him even more that he cannot figure out this woman. He obviously underestimated her. Some profiler he is.

"And I'd like Captain Gates to be able to get first rounds of appraisals." Beckett delivers the last request, and he can see the shift in the boss' features. It verges on awe and gratefulness, and he'll be damned if he didn't just see her hide a smile, if ever so small.

"If we're to mobilize the bodies of the NYPD, and it should look that way," the detective explains, clearing her throat once more, "then she has to be fully involved, or at least be the one to be the face. You can only be… _for the sake of the NYPD_, some sort of consultants. Nothing else."

The last part of that sentence almost sounded as if she was delivering it with pleasure. And then he gets it. Detective Kate Beckett had agreed to lie to her people, but not to undermine them in the process. She is proud of who they are… and this, this is something that he's completely unfamiliar with. He never, ever, loved the FBI.

"I'm guessing we can live with that." Skinner agrees, checking with Mulder and pulling him out of his reflections.

"Yeah. I guess we can." Mulder concedes. He will agree to these new conditions, but he plans to have a thorough conversation with the detective. He cannot let her play outside their plan.

"I don't think we can afford to waste any more time, and for the sake of both our accounts, we have to keep the processes going. Not only to resolve the homicide but to bring Castle and William back," Gates urges, adjourning the meeting.

Everyone in the room gets to their feet following Gates' lead towards the door.

"Detective Beckett," she says, fixing her with an authoritative stare, but her voice is softer than before. "Get Esposito and Ryan up to speed, as discreetly as possible. Organize the information to have a general meeting with the rest of the team."

She nods in agreement, and Mulder can see the relief in the younger woman's face.

"I can join you. That way we can be on the same page?" he requests, and by the look on Beckett's face he knows that she can read between the lines.

"Sure," she responds, turning her attention to him. She sounds more than agreeable, but her eyes tell it all as they roll her annoyance away.

"In the meantime, there's some hand holding to do," Gates continues her orders, still fixated on Beckett. "I suppose you'll be notifying Castle's family at some point?"

Yeah, this woman definitely knows about them, Mulder confirms, and he finds it amusing that Beckett thinks they've been smarter than their boss; she's just being naïve, very naïve.

"Yes, sir." Kate responds, and a sudden shadow clouds her features. He wonders how close she is to her boyfriend's family; would Castle want to worry them, fool them about where he is? More importantly, will Kate?

They exit the office and follow the Captain into the bullpen. Everyone stands on attention at their presence in the room, but Gates bypasses their curious looks. He can tell that even if there are other cases to be working on, everyone knows that this is the one that matters, and if it weren't for the fact that he's using them, he'd be so relieved and happy that there are still law enforcers that believe in their work so fiercely.

"While you get to both of those tasks, I have to join Hastings and catch up with her interview of the Van de Kamp's next of kin," Gates informs as they move across the room. That last part makes him do a double take.

"Excuse me?" Mulder asks, trying to hold back his surprise.

"Yes, Agent Miller?" The woman's annoyance is evident; he had better control himself.

"You've notified the Van De Kamps relatives?" His breathing quickens and he can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. Skinner meets his eyes. He knows; this isn't right.

"Yes, their sister-in-law." A patrol officer hands her a couple of forms that she signs quickly while she continues on her way. "She arrived just before you guys; has been waiting for me. One of our officers has been pre-interviewing her. Is anything the matter?"

Gates stops short and he has to think quickly before he alerts this woman that he wasn't prepared for this.

"No, no. I'm just surprised that, well, she got here this fast." Mulder flashes her with a soft smile, trying to seem cooperative. "Say, Captain Gates, could I sit in with you, get acquainted with your techniques?"

"Weren't you joining Detective Beckett?" She questions and her eyebrow rises to make a point.

"I'm sure Deputy Director Smith is more than capable of splitting the load." Mulder throws him a look and Skinner nods reassuringly.

"Whatever suits your fancy," she shrugs. "Meet me there in two. I need a trip to the ladies room and second cup of coffee."

Gates separates from the group and Beckett leads the group down the hall and towards the lounge.

"I'd much rather _you_ joined me while I talk to my boys," she mutters.

"Oh me too, and we certainly need to talk, 'specially after that stunt you just pulled on me. But right now, I need to meet this _next of kin_," Mulder says nonchalantly as he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

"What's so special about her?" Beckett picks up on his masked reticence, and the looks and change of air between him and the older man.

"Well, a couple of things. One, George and Jane didn't have siblings," his voice is just above a whisper, and the detective meets his eyes in worry. "And two, Scully and I were the ones registered as their next of kin. We weren't called."

Kate stops in her tracks and checks the perimeter. Everyone is looking at them but no one really knows what's going on.

"Shouldn't we warn Gates about this?" She asks, her voice laced with worry but her face playing the part.

"And bring attention to our different _involvement_?" Mulder cannot afford to bring any more suspicion onto the ones that he's sure the captain already has. This person has to be a member of the cult trying to outsmart them. "No, let me get in the room. You do your part; I'll check this out. If this turns out to be something we should take care of… I'm sure I can handle it."

They slowly stride to the door of the lounge and Gates meets them, cup in hand. A blonde officer exits as they gather.

"Thank you, Officer Hastings," Gates addresses her, and the uniformed woman nods shyly.

"Of course, Captain." The woman hands a few forms to Gates. "I was just coming to get you… Mrs. Diana Topher, sister-in-law, she's growing a bit… impatient."

A grimace forms on their faces, sympathetic at least.

"Aren't we all?" Gates says, throwing a look at him. "Ready?"

"You bet," Mulder responds.

They enter the dimly lit room, leaving Beckett and Skinner behind. The woman sits with her back to them as they approach, her brown tailored hairstyle resting just above her shoulders.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mrs. Topher," Gates offers her hand in greeting at the woman who stands slowly to meet their presence. "I trust that Officer Hastings made sure that you know that the whole precinct is working on your family's case…"

The brunette shakes the Captain's hand firmly as they engage in their conversation, but the room begins to spin around Mulder and the sounds become a dull white noise, as his eyes meet the woman's. His hands start to shake and he feels as if all the air has been violently extracted from his lungs. It can't be. It just can't.

The woman gives her a demure smile and turns to him; he has to brace to the back of the chair to mask the fact that his knees buckle and he feels like throwing up. She doesn't even flinch, her elegant posture a familiar and haunting vision that he never thought he would experience again.

He expected an impostor, someone from the cult infiltrating, but not her.

She's supposed to be dead.

Diana Fowley… she's supposed to be dead.

* * *

**I surely hope you keep following this story... and I hope the philes out there liked this and what's coming! Loved your reviews, so leave me more, will ya!? Tell a friend about me, link me on tumblr! I love my tumblr peeps.**

**As always, my eternal love to my Executive Producer, KyinHI. Love ya long time, and you better school Dat'ass for what coming, so start that S8/S9 rewatch.**


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